


Strays I thru IV

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-12-31
Updated: 1999-12-31
Packaged: 2018-11-20 13:55:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11336871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Mulder's having a really bad week, and Krycek doesn't help. Or does he? Note: Scully gets the giggles and Skinner gets a migraine.





	Strays I thru IV

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Strays I by mocomab

ArchiveX: 20 September 1998  
Title: Strays I  
Author: mocomab  
Rating: NC-17  
Summary: Mulder's having a really bad week, and Krycek doesn't help. Or does he? Note: Scully gets the giggles and Skinner gets a migraine. M/K  
Spoilers: Terma  
Disclaimers: The following story is rated NC-17 for homoerotic content. If this offends you, if you are under the age of consent in your neck of the woods or if this sort of thing is illegal where you're at, please go away now. The characters belong to Chris Carter, et. al., and are used without permission. I do this sort of thing for my own sick satisfaction and make no money off it.  
Size: 33K  
Feedback, please   
Thanks to beta readers EG, Kelly and Richel.

* * *

Strays I  
by mocomab  
1998

Special Agent Fox Mulder approached his apartment like a dying man seeking absolution. It was the end of yet another very bad day. In fact, the whole damn week had been awful, and it was still only Thursday. Mulder couldn't wait for tomorrow. He imagined it: Friday evening, almost home with nothing to take up his weekend but his newly acquired kitten, some rather exotic porn tapes and the current edition of The Lone Gunman. Checking his mail, he took the appearance of the cat ID tag he'd sent away for two weeks before as proof positive that this hellacious week was almost over. Things were looking up.

He tore open the padded envelope in the elevator going up to his apartment. The information was correct. Life was good. Dropping the tag and s-hook back in the envelope, he sifted through the rest of his mail. Bills mostly, phone, cable, Internet, Amex, a statement from 'Glory's House of Heaven.'

So intent was he on the sales flyers in that one that he never noticed the slight scratches around the new deadbolt to his apartment. He made it halfway into his living room before noticing a leather-clad thug sitting in the chair in front of his computer pointing a very large gun at him and holding a tiny gray-striped kitten in his lap.

"Hey, Mulder," said the thug.

"What the hell do you want, Krycek?" spat Agent Mulder, dropping his mail on the floor and reaching into his suit coat for his gun.

"Don't, Mulder," said the thug, cocking the Glock in his hand. "I'm not here to kill you, but if you make me shoot you, I'll make sure it hurts really bad."

Mulder froze, swore and repeated, "What the hell do you want, Krycek?"

Alex Krycek ignored the question, asking his own, "Nice cat, Mulder. Where'd you get him? And what happened to his leg?" The little green-eyed fluff ball was three-legged.

"Fuck you, Krycek," Mulder glared.

"Play nice, now. You answer my questions, and I'll answer yours."

"You first then," Mulder sneered. So much for things looking up.

"Fine," Krycek sighed, rising from the chair and awkwardly depositing the kitten behind him with his stiff left hand. "On the floor, Mulder. Face down, hands behind you. You know the drill."

"What? You don't trust me?" Mulder said in mock amazement.

Krycek's tone was both patient and deadly. "You're quick and you're mean and you like to hit. And as hard as I know you'll find this to believe, except in some pretty special circumstances, I don't like pain. So front and center, Fox. Assume the position."

Mulder's mind touched lightly then quickly veered away from any conjecture of "special circumstances," and his cock did a little hop, skip and jump. He moved to obey as Krycek neared him aiming the large Glock pointedly at the meaty part of Mulder's left thigh.

"Good boy," Krycek murmured in his husky low voice, putting a knee and all his weight onto the small of Mulder's back. He quickly cuffed the prone agent, and then not so quickly located Mulder's guns. Krycek took the guns, unloaded them both and tossed them in one direction and the clips in another. He then very thoroughly and 'way too slowly for Mulder's comfort, frisked him for any other weapons, taking particular pains to rub up the inside of Mulder's legs and up onto his ass.

"Having fun?" Mulder asked, twisting his head back to glare at Krycek.

"Oh, yeah," the rogue agent whispered, green eyes glittering. He cupped Mulder's balls, giving them just enough of a squeeze to elicit a yelp, then grabbed Mulder's waistband and hauled him upright and onto the couch. "There," he said with some satisfaction, "Comfy?"

"Oh, yeah," Mulder parroted back. "I just love it when you break into my apartment and handcuff me, Krycek." As soon as the words left his mouth, Mulder wished them back.

"Oooh, Mulder," Krycek breathed at him, leaning in close. "I'll remember you said that." The words were more caress than threat, but Mulder shivered as if there were a knife at his throat, hazel eyes locked on Krycek's jade ones.

A tiny, indignant "mew" broke the impasse and they both looked over at the chair, where Mulder's cat had had enough of being left out of the fun the two agents seemed to be having. He tottered on the edge of the chair, wiggling butt high in the air as he gathered his nerve for the jump down, finally plunging into a perfect four-point landing: three feet and a chin.

The kitten looked like a tiny, fuzzy drunkard, teetering across the floor toward the couch, bristly tail held straight up.

"What's his name?" asked Krycek.

"He doesn't have one," replied Mulder tersely.

"You haven't named him?" said Krycek incredulously. "Why not?"

"He's a cat, Krycek. It's not like he'd come when he's called."

The kitten had reached the couch and proceeded to climb up Mulder's trousered leg. It was a slow process, and from Mulder's grimace, a painful one, too.

"I don't believe you. I think you're just being mean. Why won't you tell me his name?"

"You're insane, Krycek. You break into my apartment, threaten and handcuff me, to ask me about my cat? It's no wonder the Consortium is trying to kill you."

"They're not," he replied. "At least, not all of them. The Smoker'd still like to deep-fry my balls, but then I feel the same about him. But he's not calling the shots anymore like he thought he did before. I'll go to my grave thankful for the knowledge that that cancerous old fuck's been just as manipulated as manipulating."

"You want to explain that statement?"

Alex grinned. "No." He watched the kitten continue its climb up Mulder's shirt, finally took pity on the grimacing agent and boosted the cat up to Mulder's left shoulder, where it settled comfortably and proceeded to suckle Mulder's earlobe, tiny claws kneading the base of Mulder's neck in a painful, yet somehow erotic rhythm.

"Argh! Krycek, make it stop!" Mulder jerked his head away, but the kitten was tenacious, nuzzling and kneading whatever was available. The purring and sucking gave Mulder shuddering gooseflesh all the way down his back and beyond.

"Oh, I don't think so," Krycek said in his own imitation of a purr. "I think he's got the right idea." Leaning in close, he gently teethed Mulder's other lobe, hot breath sending spikes of something Mulder refused to name desire straight into his groin.

Great! Mulder thought. I'm getting a hard on from Alex Krycek and a stray cat! Can this week get any worse? "Stop it!" he said through gritted teeth. Alex merely changed his light chewing to a definite sucking. "Please!"

Krycek's low chuckle sent more spikes of arousal into Mulder's cock. "Well," he breathed into the tall agent's ear, "since you asked so nicely." With a final slurp at Mulder's ear, Krycek sat back and reached over to the coffee table for a file folder lying amidst a dozen other folders. "Here's why I'm here. To give you this." He opened the folder on Mulder's lap, slowly turning over a series of grisly 8 x 10 photographs. Each depicted a naked, mutilated body; male and female, varying ages and races. There were nine of them.

"Dead people," Mulder commented dryly. "Lovely. What's my part?"

"You and the inestimable Dr. Scully will likely be assigned this case soon, if Skinner's still as predictable as ever. Seemingly unrelated victims, same MO, scattered over four states."

"Seemingly?"

"Yeah. What the file you'll be given won't say, either because the FBI doesn't know or simply isn't saying, is that each victim is connected to a DOD facility located in the Ute reservation at Four Corners."

"There aren't any Defense Department facilities on Indian reservations, Krycek. At least try to make up a believable lie." He squirmed, trying to dislodge the kitten from his ear without sending it flying to the floor. "Anyway, what's your interest? And what do you mean about Skinner being predictable?"

"Last question, Mulder, then it's my turn. Having you muck around in this will piss off people I like to have pissed off. And that'll be Skinner's motive as well. He's been told to keep you out of it. If he's true to form, he'll set you down in the middle of it. So, where'd you get the cat?"

"I almost stepped on him one morning while I was jogging around the park. He'd tangled with a dog or something, looked all chewed up, so I took him to a vet. What are you doing?" Krycek was leaning close again, chin resting on Mulder's shoulder, inhaling deeply.

"Smelling you."

"Well stop it."

"No." Krycek nuzzled him under his ear, sniffing. "I like the way you smell." He sighed. "Always have."

"When did you start doing drugs, Krycek?" Alex bit him behind his ear, not too softly, making Mulder yelp.

"What's the cat's name, Mulder?" he asked, ignoring Mulder's discomfort and continuing his exploration of the scents and textures of Mulder's neck.

"He doesn't have one. How long are you planning to do that?"

"Got any beer?" Alex asked, changing tactics. He rose from the couch to go scope out the refrigerator. "Move and I'll come shoot you in the knee," he called from the kitchen. Mulder, bringing his cuffed hands down over his butt to thread his legs through them so he'd at least have them in front of himself, stopped, considered his options, then moved them back up over his butt, cursing softly. "Does the Board of Health know about your refrigerator?" Krycek asked, coming back empty-handed. He scooped Mulder's discarded mail off the floor and brought it to the couch. "You're so pedestrian," he said, looking through the Glory's House of Heaven invoice. "You don't even buy good sex toys."

"What'd you expect, edible lube?"

"Vibrating butt-plug at the very least. 'Dennis Does Denver'? Really, Mulder. That wasn't even good satire."

"It's the director's cut," said a red-faced Mulder. "And anyway, it was for a gift."

"Right. Oooh, what's this?" Krycek shook out the contents of the little padded envelope, read the tag, looked at Mulder, read the tag again then sat back away from the agent. "You sorry son of a bitch, Mulder. I don't know whether to be pissed off or touched."

"It doesn't mean anything, Krycek," said Mulder through clenched teeth, face flaming even redder than before.

"You name a three-legged stray cat 'Alex' and tell me it doesn't mean anything. I oughta shoot you where you sit." Alex-the-thug seemed to be leaning toward 'pissed.' He pulled out his gun for emphasis. Alex-the-cat, who'd become dislodged from his perch during Mulder's abortive escape attempt, seemed bored with the exchange. He hopped off the couch in another graceful leg and chin landing to stalk a large, demonic looking dust bunny hiding under Mulder's TV stand. Once that had been wrestled into submission, he took its place, lurking under the stand, green eyes gleaming hotly from the dark. The two agents, past and present, watched the kitten's antics for awhile until Mulder, sensing he needed to say something, cleared his throat and began.

"It wasn't meant to be demeaning or anything, Krycek," he glanced over at Alex who narrowed his eyes. He wasn't buying. "It's just that he's got green eyes and no left...arm...it just seemed...appropriate..."

"You're not just a cocksucker, Mulder. You're a perverted cocksucker."

"Isn't that redundant, Krycek?" asked Mulder, appalled that smart alecky words were coming out of his mouth under these circumstances but unable to stop them. "I mean, a cocksucker by definition is a pervert, at least by the current mores of a large portion of the population, not to mention all major religions and many state laws." Krycek, eyes slit almost shut, was leaning slowly toward Mulder, the huge Glock seeming to grow in his hand. Mulder's mouth, however, would not close, no matter how hard he tried to make it. "There are even some obscure federal statues, mostly pertaining to obscenity definitions, that list fellatio as a perversion thereby making a person who performs fellatio a pervert. Therefore," Mulder closed his eyes and swallowed; Krycek was very close and pushing the Glock almost into Mulder's lap, "perverted cocksucker is a redundancy."

Finally, the words stopped flowing. "You're going to pay, Mulder," Krycek whispered directly into Mulder's ear.

Mulder turned to face Krycek and thought he could actually see himself in the outlaw's crystalline green eyes. It was weird, like he was begging his own reflection. "Please don't kill me," he whispered back, "because of a cat. You can find better reasons to kill me than that, can't you?"

"Figured you'd go out fighting giants, eh Mulder? Not for some stupid reason like pissing off a psychopath."

"You're not a psychopath, Krycek...uh...Alex..."

"Don't even start, asshole," said Krycek, incensed that Mulder would try and cajole him with the use of his first name. "And you can stop hyperventilating." This really was unfair; Mulder wasn't hyperventilating, merely gasping for breath like one of his unfortunate fish after a long out-of-town assignment. "I'm not going to kill you. And, if you hold real still," Krycek traced the length of Mulder's now quiescent cock with the tip of the Glock, "I may not even maim you." While Mulder was more frightened than he'd ever been in his life, his cock seemed to find these events somewhat uplifting. Very uplifting even, rising up to meet the steely hard Glock with a hardness all its own. "God you're a slut, Mulder," Krycek said, noting the resistance against his gun. He then fastened his teeth on the soft skin under Mulder's right ear, biting hard enough to elicit an arched back and sharp "Ouch!" from Mulder.

"Stop!" Mulder cried, willing his body parts to pull away from Krycek's busy ministrations even as they variously bared themselves for better access and pushed into the pleasing hardness of Krycek's gun.

"Slut," Krycek repeated through a mouth filled with Mulder skin.

"No, argh!" Mulder protested as the Glock made its way down the length of his cock, between his legs to pressure his balls. "Oh god," were the only coherent words Mulder could say. The pain/pleasure on his balls along with Krycek's chewing/biting/sucking on his neck lowered his IQ to close to zero, leaving him with the thought that Alex Krycek was sending him to hell and that at this rate, he couldn't wait to get there.

Krycek's teeth and tongue and lips moved down and around Mulder's throat, sucking and licking, and occasionally biting hard, and Mulder would have been hard pressed to state the date or name the president. He spread his legs, giving the Glock better access and Krycek complied, running the gun along the inside of Mulder's thighs, up around and into his testicles and pressing through the gray Armani to his anus, making Mulder think He's going to fuck me with his gun. And then just Please...fuck me with your gun...

Did he that out loud? Mulder didn't know, but Krycek chuckled, making Mulder think that he did, making Mulder wish he were dead rather than having said that...and wasn't that Krycek's point all along?

Mulder groaned and came in his pants, like a kid.

The Glock continued its caress over now sensitized skin, making Mulder finally wail, "What do you want?"

"I want you to love me, but I'll settle for you being incredibly embarrassed."

"Jesus," Mulder said and did the only thing possible: he blacked out.

When he came to moments later, Krycek was kneeling on the floor in front of his TV, teasing the kitten out from under it. The little cat chased his drumming fingers and Krycek grabbed him, cupping the little bundle of fur in his good hand.

"Don't hurt him," Mulder said, alarmed.

Krycek turned and look at him, stunned. "What?"

"Don't hurt him," Mulder repeated. "Please." He was sated, embarrassed and at a loss as to what to feel, except scared for the cat.

"Dammit, Mulder, what kind of monster do you think I am?" Krycek was genuinely shocked. "I mean, get real! I'm a professional assassin. I don't kill people's kittens!" Mulder just stared. "Fuck you." Krycek said finally, giving the kitten a last caress and putting him down on the floor. He fished in his jeans and pulled out the handcuff key. "Here," he said, tossing it toward the couch. "I didn't lie. The file's legit."

Mulder closed his eyes and listened to his door closing. "Fuck," he said softly. What just happened? And what had he just lost?

* * *

Fox Mulder intended to get to work early, before everyone else. That was his plan. Get in, hide in the basement, leave after everyone else, avoid being seen, make up a story Scully would buy...that was the plan. And like most plans, it immediately went awry.

First, his car stalled, and then a 12-car pile up on the freeway delayed Triple A. It was 7:49 by the time he pulled into the Hoover Building parking lot, along with the majority of federal worker bees heading into their jobs. Although Mulder walked briskly through the crowded corridors, making no eye contact, dozens of other agents and clerical workers who normally ignored his existence greeted him with grins and sickening good cheer.

Special Agent Fox Mulder and his large, livid hickey, was the talk of the Hoover Building.

"Good morning, Mulder," Dana Scully said when Mulder finally made it to his basement office. "You're late and Skinner wants to see us," she began, swiveling in her chair to face him. "Right away," she stopped, staring at his neck. "When did you start dating a 16-year-old?"

"I don't want to talk about it," he told her tersely. "If Skinner's going to send us after a serial killer in Colorado, I'm eating my gun."

"What serial killer?"

"This one," he replied, tossing Krycek's file on the desk.

"Mulder, that's the biggest damn hickey I've ever seen." She ignored the file to take his chin in her hand, moving it to get a better look at the mark.

"Stop it, Scully," he ordered, trying to get away from her hands.

"No, sit down and let me look." She pulled at his collar, tracing the bruise from the back of his right ear down as far as she could reach without loosening his tie or undoing buttons. "How far down does this go? Is the skin broken?"

"No," he said, ignoring the first question. He finally got her hands off his neck and studiously avoided her eyes.

"So, who is she, Mulder?" Scully asked casually, finally taking up the file he'd tossed down. She looked at him when he didn't answer, noting his red face. "He?" Mulder's face flamed deeper. She sat back down, propped her feet up on an open drawer and said, "Tell me."

"No," he groaned.

"Everything."

Mulder put his head down on the desk. "Shoot me, please," he said softly.

"What?"

"I said," he said louder, "please shoot me."

"Later. Talk."

So he did, head on the desk, not looking at her. When he finished, he pulled a tentative glance in her direction. Her eyebrows were arched and her jaw was clenched in what Mulder assumed was anger. "Alex Krycek?"

He nodded and closed his eyes.

"Our Alex Krycek? Murdering, traitorous rat bastard Alex Krycek?"

"Yes."

"Mulder," she began in her long-suffering "mom" tone of voice, "only you would have a sworn enemy who gives him hickeys."

"It's not funny, Scully."

"I know it's not."

Her voice seemed strained now, so Mulder opened his eyes to determine the cause. Scully's back was to him and it was shaking. "Fuck," he said softly, the clenching wasn't anger so much as her trying not to laugh at him. The phone rang, and since his partner seemed incapable of speech at the moment, Mulder had no choice but to answer. It was Kimberly, Assistant Director Skinner's assistant.

"AD Skinner wants to see you and Agent Scully now, Agent Mulder. Now was 20 minutes ago."

"On our way." He hung up. "You're a mean woman, Scully," he said to his partner's back. "Skinner's champing at the bit."

"Well, better the bit than your neck," she managed to choke out, trying hard to stop her laughter.

Mulder groaned, getting a visual of Skinner leaning over him with a gun in his crotch. A meeting with Skinner was never a good time. A meeting with Skinner and this damned hickey was going to be excruciating. A meeting with Skinner and the hickey and a hard on was unendurable. He stood, thinking hard of flukemen, green bile and oiliens. "You said you'd shoot me," he told Scully.

"Soon," she managed to gasp out, gulping down air in an effort to keep from laughing.

"It's not funny," he muttered again, grabbing Krycek's file and striding out of the office ahead of her, feeling a small bit of satisfaction in hearing her rapidly clicking heels try and keep up with his purposely long strides.

Mulder suffered through Kimberly's double take once the agents arrived in AD Skinner's outer office but missed seeing her raise an eyebrow at Scully who was stoically biting the insides of her cheeks in an attempt at self-control.

"Later," Scully mouthed at Kim.

Assistant Director Walter Skinner glowered at his tardy agents as they filed into his office. He didn't like to be kept waiting. He especially didn't like to be kept waiting by these two. Since they didn't seem to do anything else by the book, he felt they could at least show him the courtesy of showing up to his meetings on time.

"Slow start this morning, agents?" he asked from behind his imposingly neat desk.

Scully merely gulped when he looked her way and, were those tears in her eyes? Mulder cleared his throat, bringing the AD's eyes towards him. Skinner, like everyone else in the Hoover Building this morning, did a double take at the sight of Mulder's neck.

"Agent Mulder?"

"Sorry, Sir. I had a bit of car trouble and the freeway was backed up and..." his voice trailed off as Skinner continued to stare at his neck.

The AD finally tore his eyes away from Mulder's hickey, cleared his own throat and muttered something about maintenance. "There's a case that's come to my attention that I'd like the two of you to look into," he said finally, focusing on the only file marring his desk. "It's not an X-File, exactly, but it's my feeling that your particular expertise could prove useful. Kimberly has made the travel arrangements. You'll leave this afternoon for Denver. You can get more details from the field office there, but in the meantime, the information in this file should prove interesting." He opened his file then turned it and pushed it toward his agents. The folder opened on the same grisly photo that Mulder had first seen the night before. "This is the first," he began.

"Of nine victims," Mulder finished for him, dropping his own folder on top of Skinner's. "Over four states. All seemingly unrelated. No perceived pattern or relation among the victims."

"Where'd you get that information Agent Mulder?"

"An anonymous source, Sir," Mulder replied, ignoring Scully's snort. "My file," he indicated the folder he'd dropped on the AD's desk, "is likely identical to yours. Except that mine traces each of the victims to the Department of Defense. In particular, to a DOD facility on the Reservation at Four Corners. Where a DOD facility should not exist."

Skinner sat back in his chair and seemed to grow larger. It wasn't that he puffed out his chest or anything like that, he just seemed to get bigger until, in Mulder's perception, he filled the room leaving very little space and almost no air for his two recalcitrant agents.

"Mulder," Skinner's voice was very quiet, "that information requires a clearance higher than mine. Where did it come from?"

"Sir, I...can't...Sir." Oh god! "Please don't ask." Mulder closed his eyes.

Skinner looked at Scully, who was bent over, clutching her sides. "Agent Scully!" he said alarmed, "Are you alright?" She shook her head, not looking up.

"You have to tell him, Mulder," she said from her lap. "The man's a dangerous criminal."

"Tell me what? Skinner looked from Scully's bent form to Mulder and back again. "Who's she talking about?" he asked, louder.

"Tell him," she squeaked.

"I can't," Mulder said softly, eyes still closed.

"He needs to know," Scully raised her tear-stained face, took one look at Mulder's closed eyes and collapsed back into her lap, unable now to keep her laughter quiet.

Skinner was too nonplussed to be really angry, but he roared anyway, to good effect. "What the hell is going on! Scully! Straighten up. This isn't high school. Mulder, I want to know now where and from whom you got this information. NOW! Agent Mulder!"

"Yes, Sir."

"Sorry, Sir. Excuse me, Sir." Scully fled the office, returning with a handful of Kim's tissues, dabbing at her eyes. She carefully avoided looking at her partner and Skinner knew it wouldn't take much to send her off again. He couldn't believe it. Dr. Dana Scully, the Ice Queen of the FBI, had the giggles.

"Agent Mulder," Skinner prompted.

"Sir?" Mulder at least had his eyes open.

Shit! They were going to make him play 20 Questions. Skinner felt the start of a migraine tickling the back of his skull. "This file, Mulder. Where did you get it."

"My apartment, Sir."

Skinner took a deep breath. "Was it alone in your apartment, Agent Mulder? Or did it come attached to a person?"

"It was attached." Mulder's eyes were closed again.

"Good. We're getting somewhere. Who was that person?" Mulder mumbled something. "What? I didn't hear you." Another mumble. God. The tickling turned to pounding. "Scully? Do you know the name of this person?"

She nodded, and Skinner could see her nails digging deep into her hands. He appreciated the effort at self-control at least. "Alex Krycek" she managed to croak out.

This news stunned him. "Krycek?" He looked from one agent to the other. They both nodded. "Krycek's back in Washington? This can't be good news."

"The Consortium hit is off," Mulder supplied, he hoped, helpfully.

"Okay, enough of this. I want the whole story, Mulder, and I want it from the beginning."

"The whole story, Sir?"

"The whole story." Skinner turned to glare at Scully, who was starting to giggle again. "And I want to know your part in this, too, Agent Scully."

"Oh, no, Sir." Scully said gleefully, spreading her hands out. "I have no part in this. Oh, no. Not me, Sir. The first inkling I had about this...uh, this situation was when Agent Mulder came into the office this morning, late, with that...thing on his neck."

"Scully!" Mulder said warningly.

"Are you implying, Agent Scully, that that mark," he refused to call it a hickey "on Agent Mulder's neck is pertinent to this conversation?"

"Oh, yes, Sir. Pertinent. Very. Sir."

"In what way?"

"Krycek did it, Sir."

"Krycek gave Mulder a hickey?!"

Scully nodded, "It wasn't his fault, Sir. He was handcuffed. Agent Mulder."

"Agent Mulder?"

"Yes, Sir," She said, blue eyes wide. "Mulder was handcuffed when he received the hickey."

Skinner turned to Mulder. "Open your eyes. Let me get this straight: Alex Krycek came by your apartment last night, entered, gave you this file containing classified information, handcuffed you and then gave you a hickey? Then what? He stayed for champagne and Brie?"

"No, Sir," Mulder said. "Not exactly. He was in my apartment when I came home. He had a gun. He handcuffed me. Then he showed me the file."

"When did he give you the hickey?" Skinner wondered when the White Rabbit would hop into his office.

"After he gave me the file, Sir."

"Why?"

"Why did he give me the hickey? Or why did he give me the file?"

"Let's start with why did he give you the file. And I don't suppose he told you where he obtained it?"

"No, Sir. He said that it would piss off people he wanted pissed off if I mucked around in this. He also said that we'd get assigned to this case soon if you were running true to form because you would have been directed to keep us out of it so you'd probably put us in the middle of it." Mulder took a breath. "Just to piss off the same people Krycek said he wanted pissed off." Mulder added: "He said you were predictable."

Scully winced.

Skinner sighed. It made a strange kind of sense. "I'm sorry, but I have to know," he said to Mulder. "Why the hickey?"

"He did it to embarrass me," Mulder replied.

 "Because?"

Mulder closed his eyes again. "He didn't like what I'd named my cat."

"It's named 'Alex,'" Scully supplied.

"You have a cat?"

"It's a stray."

"And you named it 'Alex'?" Forget the White Rabbit. Skinner felt like he'd been smoking from a hookah.

"The cat's got green eyes and only three legs!" Mulder shouted. "It was a joke! Okay?"

Skinner turned to Scully who merely tapped her left arm then turned back to Mulder. "Okay." Enough. "Agents. Go to Denver. Catch the killer. Try not to get involved with the military. And," he stood up, leaned over the desk for emphasis; "I do not want to see any mention of this in any report anywhere ever!" He glared at them until he received nods from both agents. "Dismissed!"

They each picked up a file and fled.

"Mulder!" Skinner called to the tall agent. "If I may make a suggestion," he said when Mulder turned back toward him, "Get better locks. And in the future, try to avoid picking up strays."

Mulder blinked. "I always try, Sir."

"I know, Agent Mulder," Skinner said sadly, "I know."

 

* * *

 

Title: Strays II  
Author: mocomab  
Date: November 30, 1998  
Rating: NC17 for smutty sex between men.  
Warning: Includes consensual whipping  
Feedback:   
Archive: Anywhere, but please let me know  
Pairing: M/K  
Spoilers: Anasazi, The Blessing Way, Paper Clip, Tunguska, Terma, I think that's all.  
Summary: Krycek breaks into Mulder's apartment yet again to give him a present and visit his cat.  
Disclaimers: Characters aren't mine. They make me no money, and I returned them undamaged.  
Author's Note: You don't have to read "Strays I" to make sense of this, but I surely wish you would. Find it at Archive X or TERMA  
Beta thanks and chocolate rats to Sue Walsh and Hattie. Remaining errors belong entirely to me.

* * *

Strays II  
by mocomab

"I want you to love me," he'd told Mulder, right after making him come in his pants. Right after giving him-as his partner Dana Scully had said on first viewing it--"the biggest damn hickey I've ever seen," and the key to solving a nasty round of serial killings, which enabled them to shut down an illicit DOD drug ring.

"I want you to love me," he'd said.

No one had ever said those words to Fox Mulder before.

I want you to love me.

I want you to love me.

The words had become a mantra. They were his first thoughts upon waking. They dictated the rhythm of his steps when he ran. His windshield wipers spoke them in the rain.

"I want you to love me."

Words an unlovable Fox Mulder never hoped to hear. "I want you to love me."

Spoken by his enemy. The man he most hated. His own personal devil. Alex Krycek: The Betrayer.

"You were sexually assaulted," Scully told him, once she'd gotten over her giggles. "No, really. What if it had been me in the cuffs?" she'd asked. "No question then, right? Alex Krycek restrained you in handcuffs, then touched you sexually. Mulder, that's assault."

Great, he'd thought to himself. I was raped by Krycek and it felt so good and I can't get it out of my mind and I want it again. I want HIM again. I am such a pathetic, pitiful slut and I hate him and oh god I want him.

"I want you to love me."

The one advantage to being perennially fucked up is that when something's bothering you, no one notices. Well, Scully did, but she had a notion why and being the wise woman she was-not to mention friend-she kept her comments to a minimum. She'd mentioned the Stockholm Syndrome once, and, on another occasion, suggested specialized counseling but dropped the matter, letting him know she was there to listen.

"I want you to love me."

His boss was something else. Krycek's assault (awakening?) left him open to possibilities (extreme possibilities) and Walter Skinner was about as extreme as they come: big, tough and macho, with that domineering alpha male sneer that buckled Mulder's knees and made his cock stand at attention, making staff meetings excruciatingly sweet torture. Great. He not only had a hard-on for his greatest enemy but for his immediate supervisor as well.

"I want you to love me."

Why Krycek? Why him? And why did the thought of someone wanting him to love them hit him so hard?

Well, hell, he knew the answer to that one. He was a psychologist after all, and he hated himself for being so needy.

"I want you to love me."

It had been two months since the last time Alex Krycek broke into his apartment. Two months. Had Mulder pissed him off so much that he'd never come back? Had he pissed him off enough?

Mulder didn't know if he hoped so, or not. All Fox Mulder knew for sure is that Alex Krycek had stuck a gun in his groin and told him, "I want you to love me." And a full two months later that thought still made Mulder hard and weeping.

"I want you to love me."

High summer now, and Mulder ran like he was being chased by demons, which, in a way, he was.

High summer...95 degrees with humidity to match. Mulder ran until his side stitched, and then he ran through that. He ran until he lost the rhythm, until his legs stopped obeying his orders. He ran until he puked out his guts, until his vision blurred and the voice stilled.

Stinking and sweating, drenched in his own fluids, Mulder entered the dim coolness of his apartment. He peeled off his t-shirt, using it to wipe the sweat off his chest, and looked around for his cat. He entered his bedroom, heading for the shower when the sound of claws on carpet caught his attention. A striped gray paw shot out from under his bed, grabbing onto an unseen speck of lint. The paw disappeared, and Mulder heard the sound of scrambling under his bed, tips of claws catching on threads of carpet.

The only good thing going on in his life at this moment was the three-legged kitten he'd rescued a few weeks before the Krycek Incident (as he'd labeled it). The gray-striped, green-eyed little fur ball he'd named "Alex" on a whim (green eyes, no left...arm) had loved him and entertained him and most importantly, it had needed him.

Mulder grinned. Alex-the-cat was about the only thing these days that distracted him from the thought of Alex-the-demon.

"Hey, Alex," he called softly after the cat, "Whatcha doin'?"

"Just playin' with the cat," came the reply from the far side of the bed.

"Christ!" yelled Mulder, jumping and reaching for the gun he wasn't carrying.

"Hey, Mulder," said Alex Krycek, rising from the far side of Mulder's bed. He was clad in faded jeans and a Grateful Dead t-shirt, his hard plastic prosthesis prominent where his left arm should be. His hair was longer than Mulder had ever seen it and hung down across one eye. He tossed it back, watching for Mulder's reaction.

The emotions crossing Mulder's face ranged from the usual rage that Krycek evoked in him to confusion to lust back to confusion and settled, finally, on a despairing helplessness.

"Why are you here, Krycek?" Mulder asked softly.

Alex smiled. It was a sweet smile, not his usual cocky smirk. Slightly sad. "I came to see the cat." It was almost a question. "He's really getting big."

"You break into my apartment to check on the cat?" A token protest, really. They'd had this conversation before. "You torture me, Krycek. Why?"

Alex approached him slowly, carefully, waiting for the violence to erupt. Standing close, still, Krycek inhaled deeply.

Mulder closed his eyes. "Don't." Another token. They'd had this conversation also. "I stink."

"Yeah," Krycek agreed. "It's great." Then, "I like to torture you, Mulder. You're so beautiful when you suffer. It makes you, I dunno, luminescent or something. You glow."

"God, you're a sick fuck."

"I know." Another deep breath, then a soft exhalation. He was standing so close Mulder could feel his heat, feel Krycek's breath stirring the fine hairs on his body, making his cock harden. "So," Alex said finally, "you caught the killer." It wasn't a question.

Mulder opened his eyes, confused for a moment. Oh yeah, Four Corners, serial killer, Department of Defense...Krycek's information. He nodded. "You...your information...it helped." Closed his eyes again. Be honest. "Your information was the key. There was no connection without it. Thank you."

Krycek smiled that sad, sweet smile again. He knew how hard the "thank you" was. "And you shut them down?" This was a question. So his sources didn't know everything. Mulder felt slightly disappointed.

"They were officially shut down in 1969. How the hell does something like that slip through the cracks?" The question was rhetorical, but Krycek answered anyway.

"In the usual manner," he said, moving away, back toward the bed. "With money and power...what a scam." He fumbled for something behind the bed, pulled out a canvas knapsack, carefully disentangling the tiny claws that embedded themselves in it when it moved. "They create a super drug to make a super soldier, then the war ends. So what do they do?" He hauled the knapsack onto the bed, struggled a bit with the straps, opening it. He glanced over to Mulder, who shrugged, seemingly rooted to the spot, unable to move. "They sell it on the street, make it 'better.' Tweak it some more so they can make anybody do anything," he answered himself. "Makes cocaine look like baby aspirin. Fuckin' assholes don't care whose brain they fry or who they turn into a psychopath."

"That what happened to you, Krycek," asked Mulder finally, sarcastically, finding his voice if not his legs. "DOD asshole drugs what turned you into a psychopath?"

Alex stopped his digging through the knapsack to look back at Mulder. Insults were familiar, and he seemed pleased that the agent was snapping out of his shocked stupor.

"And you said I wasn't a psychopath," Alex smirked, reminding Mulder of the words spoken while he begged for his life, thinking Krycek would kill him for what he'd named his cat. "Actually," he said, "I was seduced by words."

"Words?"

"Yeah, you know...honor, duty, love...words."

"Honor, duty and love...that's what turned you into a killer?"

"Yup," Alex found what he'd been searching for, pulled a flat, square box wrapped in shiny burgundy paper out of the knapsack. "I brought you a present," he said, tossing the package to Mulder like a Frisbee.

"What the fuck is this?"

"Open it." Alex approached him again, still wary. Warier, maybe.

Mulder looked askance. A present from Krycek? His first impulse was to toss it back, but who really can resist a prettily wrapped gift? Krycek stood too close for it to contain an explosive or poison gas, so Mulder removed the paper, careful of needles or other sharp objects as he pulled the tape away from the paper.

Once down to the box, Mulder hesitated, causing Krycek to smile a dare. How brave are you? Never taking his eyes off Krycek, Mulder lifted off the lid. Krycek's smile widened anticipating Mulder's reaction. When Mulder finally took his eyes off his ex-partner, lowering them to the square of cardboard in his hands, he stood stunned. In the box, on a layer of white cotton, lay a shiny black leather collar, studded with rhinestones. It was identical, except for its size, to the collar Mulder's cat wore. Even down to the red heart-shaped tag dangling by an s-hook.

Mouth suddenly dry, Mulder looked at Krycek.

"Read it, Mulder," his nightmare said, for surely this was a dream.

The front of the tag read simply "Fox." On the back, "Property of A. Krycek."

"You are insane," Mulder whispered finally.

"Not really," Krycek grinned at him. "I'm just a pervert." When Mulder remained silent, he went on: "Think of it, Mulder. What could be kinkier than you and me together? Doesn't it get you hot?" He looked down at the bulge in Mulder's running shorts. "Yeah, I guess it does." He moved in closer, almost touching, eyes locked on Mulder's. "Come on, Fox," he emphasized the first name. "Put my collar on."

Mulder tried, he really did, to pull his eyes away from Krycek's green gaze. But he couldn't, anymore than he could stop his hands from picking up the collar and bringing it up to his neck. He stopped short of buckling it, whispering: "Then what happens?"

Krycek's smile was demonic. "Then you do what I say. Until you take it off again." He reached down to lightly brush against Mulder's erection. "You can always take it off, Mulder. I don't intend to cuff you or tie you up. This time."

This time. Even as his mind screamed STOP! his hands finished buckling the collar. "I've gone insane," he stated closing his eyes.

"Lots of people say you went insane years ago," Krycek said, reaching up to position the collar with the tag falling across Mulder's Adam's apple. "Don'tcha think it's time you enjoyed some of that insanity?"

A slow tear trickled down Mulder's cheek and he not quite stifled a sob when Alex traced its path down his face. "I can't make them stop hurting you, but I can try to make you care less," he whispered. His hard left hand braced behind Mulder's back while his warm right one kept busy fluttering across Mulder's chest, pinching first this nipple then that one, tangling softly through the sparse chest hair, tracing a trail across and down Mulder's chest that lead the way for his warm, moist tongue.

Mulder moaned at the sensations, ignoring the screams in his head. It felt so good, and it had been so long since he'd been touched like this, since anyone had wanted to touch him. "Did you mean it?" he asked softly, still not opening his eyes. Afraid that seeing Krycek would spoil the pleasure and feeling a coward for that fear. "Did you mean what you said? Before. About wanting...about wanting me to..." He couldn't finish, couldn't say the words.

"Yes," whispered to Mulder's left nipple just before it was bitten and suckled softly. "Yes," to the right one with a slurp and a suck. "Yes-yes-yes," nip, suck, bite, nip, suck, bite, all the way down Mulder's stomach to his navel. Krycek on his knees, hard left hand on his butt holding Mulder close, lips closing around the engorged cock, sucking hard through the silky running shorts and plain cotton briefs. "I want," another suck and bite to the head. "I want," husky and urgent, gripping Mulder's waistband with his good right hand, not caring about Mulder's discomfort as he forced the shorts down over the hard penis, maddened by Mulder's need and Mulder's pain. "I want you, I want you," over and over, the rest muffled by Mulder's cock in the warm, sweet mouth.

But Mulder's emotional need far outstripped his physical need and he tangled his fingers in Krycek's long hair, pulling back hard, hurting them both. "Say it!" he screamed, eyes open, no longer trying to stifle the sobs. "Say it so I can hear it, you son of a bitch! Say it!" Down on his knees now, too, shaking Alex by the hair until the rogue grabbed the collar, jerking back hard and pulling Mulder off balance and onto his back, straddling him.

"I do, you fucking fool," crazed voice, deep with lust, hard body holding Mulder down. "I do want you to love me," mouth finding mouth, claiming and silencing. And finally, an eternity of tongues and teeth later: "I always have."

Serious grinding, denim against flesh, cursing and biting and sobs and a yell that Mulder didn't think was his but was too overwhelmed by his orgasm to wonder much about. Sweat and snot and semen and Christ! has it ever been this good?

"Shit!" said Krycek from somewhere above him.

"I came on your pants," said Mulder, still hiccuping his sobs. "Sorry."

A somewhat hysterical giggle from Alex. "S'okay," he said rolling off Mulder. "I came in 'em."

"That's only fair, since I came in mine last time." Then they were both snickering, like naughty schoolboys. "So," Mulder said, once they'd quieted. "What now?"

"Mmmm," came the reply from a closed-eyed Krycek. "I haven't decided yet. The bed I think. Don't want you getting rug burn."

Mulder snorted, content for the moment just to feel. And he felt, at least his body did, really good. Relaxed. At peace. No headache or muscle cramp threatened the back of his neck. "Don't wanna move," he said. "I'm comfortable."

"Do it anyway. I'm not done with you. Not by a long shot." With that, Krycek rose gracefully to his feet. "Come on, Spooky. Get it going."

"Don't call me 'Spooky'."

"Whatever you say, Fox. Just move it."

"Don't call me 'Fox'." Perturbed now.

"What should I call you then? And don't tell me 'Mulder.' I won't call you 'Mulder.' Everyone calls you 'Mulder' Mulder. I especially won't call you 'Mulder' when I'm fucking you."

"You're gonna fuck me?"

"Uh huh. Soon's I'm able."

Mulder looked up at Krycek, considering. What happened to the anger, the hate? Was it all so easily subsumed by lust?

"Did you kill my father?" he asked after a long moment.

"Cancerman killed him," Krycek answered. "I merely pulled the trigger." Mulder closed his eyes, willing the anger back, waiting for the guilt to roll over him, filling and choking, negating all the warmth and furrily pleasant feelings the recent coupling had left him. A tear rolled down and off his face, pooling in his ear, tickling. The anger could've saved him, kept him away from this pain, but it was gone, hiding, and all he felt was a sad kind of guilt.

"If we're really going for the truth here, Bill Mulder killed himself."

Fox opened his eyes, looking up at Alex.

"It's true, Fox," no protest about the name this time. "He knew he'd be marked the moment he told the smoker he was coming clean with you. He'd been a player too long not to know that. What is unforgivable, and what I hope he's burning in hell for, is chancing on taking you with him." Krycek squatted down. "If he'da talked before I could kill him, we'd all be dead. They'da killed you for his knowledge and me for not being able to. I volunteered, Mulder," Alex was almost crying himself. "Because otherwise they'd have sent Cardinale. And he would've killed you both, just because he liked it and just to be sure. I had to do it Mulder," his voice was a harsh whisper. "I had to, don't you see? It was the only way I could keep you alive."

Silence, then a loud sniff. "Yeah," said Mulder huskily. He sat up, eyes level with the still squatting Krycek. "It was easier hating you, I think," he said, before leaning in for a kiss. It was gentle this time, more an exploration than a battle, tongues meeting in gentle wet caresses, lips in sweet massage.

Krycek nodded, once they broke for air. "There's a reason we never killed each other, we've certainly had plenty of chances."

"And motives."

"And motives," Alex agreed. He rose, pulling Mulder with him. "Come on, propezdoloch, I really do want you on the bed."

"What'd you call me?"

"Foxy. Go," Alex placed the flat of his hand on Mulder's chest and shoved hard propelling the agent back toward his bed. "How come it's clean?" he asked, following Mulder onto the bed, stretching out on top of him, pinning his hazel-eyed prey underneath. He stretched Mulder's arms up over his head and nuzzled his neck and armpit.

"Stop it!" Mulder squirmed, self-conscious about his unbathed status.

"No," Krycek licked at the dark hair growing there, catching some in his teeth and pulling gently. "Answer my question, how come the bed's cleared off? It's usually piled high with books and shit. So how come it's clean? Expecting company?"

"Maybe," Mulder squirmed harder.

"Me?"

"Maybe." He stopped his attempts to dislodge Krycek and frowned. "How do you know what my bed usually looks like?" Alex just grinned. "What? You hang here while I'm at work?"

"Uh huh." Alex continued his assault on Mulder's armpit.

"Alex!" Mulder said sharply when he could stand the sensation no longer.

"What?" Mulder's own personal demon lifted his face out of Mulder's left armpit, shifted just a tad and clamped his teeth around a nipple.

"Argh!"

"Argh? You interrupted me to say 'argh'?" Alex dug his chin into Mulder's chest and look up at him, giving Mulder a strange, distorted view of the villainous rat.

"Uh, no...you still have clothes on."

Krycek just looked at him. "And your point is?"

"You should take them off."

"Why?"

"I'm naked. You should be naked."

Krycek sighed. "Mulder, you're the psychologist. You certainly know the advantages a clothed person has over an unclothed person. I'm your top; you're wearing my collar. Clothes are my prerogative."

Mulder sighed. "Krycek, take off your fucking clothes. Right now."

Krycek didn't move.

"Please."

Still no movement.

"Sir...before I flip you over and beat the shit out of you."

Krycek sighed again, an echo of Mulder's, before rolling off him to stand beside the bed. Mulder rolled onto his side, head on hand, watching. "Strip," he said.

"You're awfully bossy for someone wearing a collar," said Krycek as he toed off his tennies.

In answer, Mulder ran his free hand down his body, stopping to grasp his cock, licking his lips lasciviously.

"And you're not very good at following orders." Krycek peeled off his t-shirt, easing it over his head and off the prosthesis. He paused, right hand resting on the strap holding it in place. Mulder swallowed visibly, and willed his face not to react. The arm on-arm off choice would be entirely Krycek's, with no help from Mulder. A pause, a look, a sigh and the arm came off, to be lain gently out of the way on the floor. Mulder smiled his approval. One-handed, Krycek undid his jeans, never taking his eyes off Mulder's. He eased them over his hips, wincing as he unstuck them from around his genitals. "Eew," he said, pushing down the jeans and stepping out of them.

Mulder chuckled, causing Krycek to narrow his eyes. He leaped on the bed. "Clean me up," he commanded.

Mulder grinned. "Sure," he said, moving to clamber over Krycek. Alex stopped him.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?"

"To get a washcloth," Mulder said, frowning at the stop of the game.

"No," said Krycek, squeezing his arm. "You clean me up. You. Clean me up."

Mulder stared, uncomprehending at first. "Oh," he said finally, eyes widening. "Oh. Oh, god."

"Yeah."

"Yeah," Mulder repeated, eyes wide and dilated. "Oh." The last words he said before swallowing hard and putting his head down to Krycek's groin, sending out a tentative tongue.

"Oh, yeah," from Krycek, signaling he was on the right track.

Encouraged, Mulder broadened his strokes, lapping over belly and thighs, nuzzling and sucking Krycek's sticky semen off crisp pubic curls. The taste was both repellent and addictive. It tasted like him--is there any man alive who hasn't tasted his own come?--and yet not. Different diets, maybe. Pure protein with just a hint of sweet. God! So good. And the smell...Mulder buried his nose in Alex's hair, nudging at his cock like a pig after truffles. Nibbling at his hairy sacs, forcing Alex's legs apart, forcibly burrowing his head under the creamy white ass, biting at those lovely cheeks. Coming at Krycek's anus the hard way, tonguing like a homing missile. Mulder wished for a longer tongue, like other men wish for a bigger dick.

He took the cock in his mouth finally, when all traces of semen and salt were gone. Too ambitious for his own good, Mulder gagged, trying to deep throat Alex all at once.

"Stop!" Krycek hollered, twisting away.

Stunned, hurt, Mulder felt his eyes fill. "I'm sorry. I tried..."

"Oh, Jesus, Mulder!" Alex grabbed him by the hair, forcing him up the bed for a painful kiss. "It was great," he rasped out in a voice even lower than usual. "But I don't wanna come in your mouth. I wanna come in your ass."

"Oh, god, Krycek."

"You're a virgin?" Something not reckoned.

"No. Not exactly." Green eyes to green-gold.

"Mulder," patient, yet anxious. "You either are or aren't. It's not multiple choice."

"I was 19. It's been almost 20 years."

"Was it awful? Were you raped?" Concern overriding lust.

"No," Mulder said, dipping his head to the sweaty chest before him, finding a hard nipple to suckle. "It was great. Too great. I loved it. But..." Mulder switched to the other nipple, "It meant that Bill Mulder's faggot son really was a faggot. It was so good, I couldn't do it again. I never wanted to." He left the nipple, then ran his tongue down Krycek's side, clamping his teeth on what would've been love handles, if there'd been any spare flesh anywhere on the assassin's lean body. He bit hard, until Alex yelled.

"God! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," trying to twist away from the teeth. "I'll go. I'm sorry."

"Fuck you! No you won't," releasing the tortured flesh, then clamping down hard on another spot.

Krycek arched against the pain, loving it, wanting more of anything Fox Mulder would give him. "Yes! Fox, I'm sorry. Let me go."

"No."

"Yes."

"No." Savagely, Mulder bit again, gnawing to draw blood. "No," he said releasing. "No, you mother fucking rat bastard." Another savage bite, causing a scream. "No. Bill Mulder's dead. No." A bite, gentle this time. "No," a soft suck to the tormented flesh. "Please. Alex, please. Fuck me."

"Jesus. Turn over."

"Jesus isn't here," Mulder ever the smart aleck said, complying in a shift of bodies.

"Asshole." Krycek straddled him, reaching up to snag pillows. "Here, get comfortable." He endeavored to help Mulder stuff the pillows under his hips. "I hope to be awhile."

"Braggart."

Alex chuckled and kissed him on the ass. "Scared?"

"Yeah, a little." Mulder felt so...wanton...with his chest on the bed and his ass elevated. "I don't know what to do."

"Just relax," Alex kissed him again, adding a little tongue to the butt cheek. "Spread your knees for me," he said. "Show me what you've got there."

Mulder whimpered, but complied, widening his knees as much as he comfortably could and then spreading them some more, wanting the discomfort.

"Reach back and spread your cheeks for me," Krycek directed.

Mulder moaned. He did as told, and arched his back, sending his ass up higher.

"You are so beautiful." Mulder heard the words, felt their whisper against his anus. Then he felt the tongue, warm and wet and somehow sharp, probing against the tight muscle. Alex Krycek was killing him, as he'd always known Krycek would someday do.

"So good," he whispered, dying a little. "Alex, that's so good."

Alex nipped him gently in response, then hardened his tongue, forcing it through the orifice, fucking Mulder with that tiny, wet muscle. It went on for days, it seemed to Mulder's short-circuited brain. Krycek seemed to be in no hurry, drawing sounds out of Mulder the agent never knew he could make.

"Still scared?" he whispered finally, coming out for air.

"No," Fox answered, amazed that it was true. "Fuck me, Alex. Please."

"You're sure?"

"Christ! Where's my gun?"

A chuckle against his anus, then nothing. "Alex?"

"Shush, baby," and a tearing sound. Then something cold and slick, trickling between his ass cheeks. Alex tapped a hand still spreading his cheeks. "Brace yourself good," he said. "I can't help."

One handed, no shit. He felt Krycek close then. And a slick hand on his ass. A finger against his hole, teasing and probing, forcing its way in. It didn't hurt, exactly. But it felt strange, invasive. He felt self-conscious, like he needed to fart, then the finger probed harder, angling up, touching...

"Shit!" Mulder yelled, pushing hard against Krycek's hand.

"Liked that, did you?" Alex probed again, touching his prostate, loving Mulder's responsive curses.

"Fucker, fucker, fucker, god Alex, don't stop."

Alex bit him gently and removed his finger, replacing it quickly with a second, then a third, stretching the muscle, brushing against his prostate every time he thought Mulder might be feeling discomfort.

"Get ready," he rasped, and Mulder felt more slick at his ass, then pain, a burning, blossoming ache that grew from discomfort to out and out agony. He groaned out a curse. "Breathe deep," Alex told him. "Relax."

"Fuck that," Mulder didn't think he could stand the pain, then Alex made it in, and the pain leveled, thrumming inside him. His cock grew. It obviously thought this felt good.

"Do yourself," Alex whispered in his ear, starting to pump. "Come on, Fox, jack yourself off. Milk it for me, baby, make yourself come." Mulder felt Alex's long, slow strokes, pushing all the way in, brushing against Mulder's sensitive pleasure center, then pulling almost all the way out, over and over again until Mulder did start stroking his cock. Alex followed Mulder's rhythm, going faster and faster, strokes short and hard, and at the end, right before he climaxed, Mulder had to wonder when it started feeling good...he'd been unaware, caught off guard when the pain turned to pleasure. And then he was shooting hot come over his clean bed and he felt Krycek's spasm, too, and oh god! it was even better than he remembered.

Mulder collapsed when Alex pulled out, back aching, butt burning. He rolled over on his back, watching Alex strip off the condom and lean across him to deposit it in a wastebasket.

"I think we scared the cat, Mulder," Alex said.

Mulder again, the sex must be over, Fox thought, post-coital depression starting. "Yeah, well, he's never seen anyone on the bed before."

Alex lay back down, not quite touching but close enough for Mulder to feel his heat.

"So, did you really clean the bed off for me?"

"Do you really lurk here when I'm not around?"

"You first."

"Christ," Mulder said, covering his eyes with an arm. "Yes. I think so. I never thought about why, just that I had to clean it up." Silence. Mulder finally took his arm away and look over at the pretty rat sweating at his side. "Your turn."

"Yeah. I come here sometimes. If I need a place to hang out for a few hours, or if you're out of town or something." Alex grinned, "Since I'm the one who's usually breaking in, it's pretty safe for me, you know?"

Mulder shook his head. "You do take chances. So, what now?"

"You keep asking me that."

"Well, you're the one who's supposed to be in charge."

"Rest then. You want some vodka?"

"Krycek, I don't have any vodka."

"Yes you do. In the freezer." At Mulder's look, Alex continued, "you don't just show up at a person's apartment without bringing a bottle of something. I was raised better than that."

Mulder just shook his head. "You really are a piece of work, Krycek."

"So, does that mean yes?"

"Yes. I guess so."

"Good." Alex bounced off the bed. Ah, youth, Mulder thought, unable to move.

Mulder smiled when Alex came back into the bedroom, holding an icy bottle of Stoly in his hand and a half-grown cat in the crook of his elbow.

"Strays," Mulder said affectionately, feeling both grateful and benevolent. "Skinner warned me about picking up strays."

Krycek stopped and glared. "Please tell me you're not boinking the boss."

Mulder snorted, yeah, like that's a possibility. "I haven't boinked anyone in half a fucking decade. Why, you suddenly jealous of large, bald men?"

Krycek sat on the side of the bed, nudging Mulder's hip with the frosty bottle. Fox yipped, and moved over, while Alex gently unloaded the cat onto the bed.

"Here, help," he held out the bottle for Fox to unscrew and settled himself cross-legged. He took a long pull at the bottle, considered Mulder, took another pull, then handed it off, saying, "Jealous? Yeah, kinda. You could do worse than Skinner."

Mulder opened his mouth, but could think of nothing to say.

Alex continued, "I mean, he'd take care of you. I wouldn't like it, but I wouldn't worry so much."

Mulder didn't know what to tackle first: Krycek's worrying about him or a discussion of Walter Skinner's sexual proclivities.

"I was right to begin with," he said finally. "You are insane."

"Oh, come on, Mulder. Don't tell me you've never fantasized about those big hands of his, having their way with your nubile body."

"Shit, Krycek! You wanna tell me what really went on on that balcony after I left?"

Krycek favored him with a really long look. "It was a long, cold night. I spent it waffling between wishing he'd come out there after me and being afraid that he'd come out there after me." He snagged the vodka bottle back and took a swallow. "Mother fucker never came out."

"So, he's straight."

"Hell, Mulder. I don't believe anyone's really straight. Not entirely. He just didn't want anything to do with my nasty ass."

Mulder took the bottle back. "There's a lot of words I'd use to describe your ass. Nasty isn't one of them."

"Smooth talker." Alex bent over, dangling his hair down, teasing the cat, who batted at it. Alex-the-Cat balanced back on his haunches, looking much like a mutant prairie dog, batting at Krycek's dark, silky hair.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Krycek," Mulder said. "He's gonna snag your nose."

"No he won't," countered Alex-the-Rat, jerking his face out of the way of the killer kitten claws.

"He does me," Mulder said in a I-can't-wait-to-say-I-told-you-so voice.

Krycek raised his head and looked pointedly at Mulder's decidedly large nose. "Well, duh," he said, then dipped his head back down to torment the cat.

Mulder wondered briefly just how much outrage he could manage lying naked with a frozen vodka bottle in his hands. "Fuck you," he said and took a swallow.

"Later," Alex said, "you have a chore to do, first."

"Now you're going to make me work for sex?"

"It's not work if you enjoy it, Mulder." He flipped the cat over on its back and began tickling its belly. Alex-the-Cat flattened his ears and kicked furiously at Krycek's hand with his hind feet while gnawing on Alex's thumb. Krycek relented, releasing him. The cat leapt off the bed and zoomed out of the room, bent, no doubt, on wreaking both havoc and revenge. Krycek rose, too, and went rummaging through Mulder's closet.

"Planning your wardrobe?" Mulder asked, curious.

"No one can wear Armani like you, Mulder," Alex replied without turning around. "I wouldn't presume to try and fill your pants."

Mulder snorted. "So, what are you looking for?"

Alex gave a little exclamation of triumph. "This'll do," he said, turning and brandishing a worn leather belt.

"What the fuck do you think you're gonna do with that, Krycek?" Mulder asked as Krycek approached the bed, slapping the doubled-up belt lightly against his thigh.

Mulder flinched when Alex brought it down gently across his groin. "Not me, Mulder," Alex whispered, laying the belt across Mulder's hip and then reaching for the vodka. He took one long swallow, then another. "You," he said, not looking at Mulder.

"Me?" Mulder squeaked.

"Yeah," Alex took yet another drink, then sat the bottle on the nightstand. "I want you to whip me, Mulder." He met the agent's incredulous gaze finally. "Please."

"Alex, I...," Mulder swallowed, then began again. "Why?"

"I need it." Back to a husky whisper. "I...it helps me. I can sleep, sometimes, for weeks...after...without the dreams...I dream...you know?...Nightmares. You ever have nightmares, Mulder?"

"Yeah, I have nightmares," he replied, all eyes and nerve endings.

"They come to me at night. Ghosts. People I've killed...betrayed...I try to explain...in my dreams, you know? To tell them why. But it's like they can't hear. Won't hear. They won't forgive me. None of them. Except Melissa." His voice went lower, almost inaudible. "Melissa forgave me."

"Melissa? Melissa Scully?"

Alex nodded. "I wasn't...it wasn't my bullet. But I was there. I was there to kill Scully. Dana. But it wasn't her that walked through the door. It was Melissa. And Luis killed her. And so the hit was blown. And it was my gig. So they went to blow me up, after we copped the tape from Skinner," he was fugued now, looking at a movie in his own head. Mulder, both fascinated and horrified, could only listen, clenching and unclenching the belt Krycek had given him.

"Melissa forgives me. She helps me now sometimes," he laughed a harsh, humorless laugh. "How's that for an X-File, Mulder? A woman I helped kill comes back from the dead to help me fight the people who sent me to kill her. Well, kill her sister. Weird, huh?"

Mulder just stared, then leaned over to grab the vodka bottle from of the nightstand. "Do I haunt you?"

Krycek laughed again. "You have to ask? Jesus, Mulder, you've haunted me since the first day I ever saw you. It was at Quantico. A lecture you gave on serial killers, when you were still riding high from Monty Propps, before 'Spooky' became a bad word. Fuck, man, I fell in love with you at the Quantico lecture hall." He grabbed the bottle from Mulder and took another drink, feeling the liquor finally, starting to slur. "You wouldn't believe the fuckin' ghosts who haunt me, Mulder. But you, you're the worst. I loved you so much. And still I betrayed you."

"And you think me whipping you will help?" Mulder was outraged, angry all over again. This was Alex Krycek after all: rat bastard, double agent, assassin, betrayer, round-assed savior...

"Mulder," Alex pleaded. "What's to lose? It can only hurt."

The anger flamed out of Mulder, replaced by...what? Compassion? Pity? "And you think this," he gestured with the belt, "makes up for all that?"

"Of course not. It just...it just helps me sleep. That's all. Nothing makes up for what I've done." His voice was so devoid of hope that Mulder's heart clenched. Alex was after all what he so easily could have become.

"You're the flip side of me," he said. "You're what I could've become if they hadn't taken Samantha." He said it in a voice filled with awe, having an epiphany. "My god! That's the only difference in us, isn't it? You never had a Samantha."

Alex just looked at him.

"It's true!" Mulder was profiling. "Your father was part of the Consortium, just like mine. But yours never had second thoughts. Or," Mulder was on a roll, "he was killed and you were raised under their influence."

"No," Alex said sadly. "I can't blame my father. He was just an immigrant junk man, hoping for a better life for his son. He beat me into a scholarship and I did well. Then I got accepted at Quantico...then they found me and pushed all my buttons. And here we are, Mulder."

"Here we are," Mulder repeated, giving up the profile. They locked eyes, each trying to read the other. Alex broke first, stretching out face down on the bed.

"Come on, Mulder. You know you like it. It's a wet dream come true, I'm asking you to beat the shit out of me." When Mulder didn't move, he added, "Do it. Or take off the collar and tell me to leave."

Mulder's eyes widened at that. He didn't want the game to end. "I don't know that I can," he whispered.

"You don't seem to have a problem using your fists on me."

"I'm always pissed at you when I do that!" Mulder was shouting now, anger and guilt vying for domination.

"Okay, then. Don't think of it as beating me. Think of it as foreplay."

"Oh, god."

"Hmmm."

"Alex," there was a slight note of hysteria in his voice, desperate. "Who does this for you normally? When I'm not around to torment?"

"This is America, Mulder," Alex settled more on the bed, grasping the covers and getting the pillow 'just so' under his face. "You can purchase most anything." He turned his head to look up at Mulder. "But it's not the same."

Mulder took a deep breath and brought the belt down lightly on Krycek's ass.

"You hit like a girl, Fox."

He did it again, only a little harder.

"You're gonna make me look up Scully, aren't you? Bet she could give me what I need."

"Asshole," Mulder put down a stripe on Alex' creamy white ass.

"Better, Mulder. Now you're hitting like a 'big' girl."

Mulder put his back into it, causing Krycek to arch up and hiss.

"Yeah, you're getting it. Almost there."

"How many then?" asked Mulder through clenched teeth, excited, hating this.

"As many as it takes to get me there." Mulder swore in reply, so Alex went on, "You'll know when it's enough. I'll tell you."

"So, I just keep hitting you until you yell 'stop'?"

"You really are naïve, Mulder. You don't stop when I yell 'stop.' Of course, I'm gonna yell 'stop' 'cause it's gonna hurt. It's supposed to hurt. The point of the exercise is to hurt. A lot. I'll yell and cuss you and carry on. You don't stop. You don't stop until I've had enough."

"But how will I know?"

"You'll know, Mulder."

"Oh, god," Mulder said, and hit him. Hard. Again and again. No complaints or taunts from Alex, so he reckoned he got the intensity down right. The marks that appeared on Krycek's backside fascinated him. Red welts on that smooth, white skin. Mulder found himself making patterns. An hysterical part of his mind wondered if he could spell his name, like pissing in the snow. He became aware on a subliminal level of Krycek's keening sobs and curses. He noted them, but took them as encouragement. Applause, an urging on. It was lovely, really. The pretty marks, the way Krycek's body tried to push its way through the bed away from the lash, for lash is how Mulder now thought of his old worn belt. It was heady, this. He felt strong, invincible. He felt as if he were creating something new. Something special. He felt like god.

"Fox!" The anguished wail finally broke through to Mulder and he dropped the belt, appalled. Krycek's back was...meat...a red mass of pain. And it was more by luck than any kind of skill that the skin was only broken in a few places.

"Oh, god, Alex. Alex...I'm sorry, Alex...oh god..." Mulder didn't know what to do, how to comfort him. Alex cried into the pillow with great gulping sobs and incoherent entreaties to a 'Fox' Mulder did not know.

"Alex, Alex, what can I do? I'm sorry, what can I do? What..."

"Thank you," whispered into the pillow. "Thank you. Fuck me, Fox..."came the reply finally, between sobs. "Fuck me, please. Oh, Fox, fuck me." The sobs were quieter now, softer and less anguished. "Oh, please, fuck me. I need you, Fox. Please."

Fox was sobbing, too, and he was hard, so hard. It shamed him, how hard he was, how hard he got beating Krycek. What did this say about him, that he was so hard?

He fumbled for condom and lube, "I'll hurt you," he said, frantic, not knowing where to put his hands, afraid to touch, lust making denial impossible.

"It's okay, just, please, do it...fuck me, please, Fox."

And then Fox was prepping him, gingerly pushing between his reddened cheeks, trying not to touch the outraged flesh. He pushed through the tight sphincter, knowing that here at least had not been injured by him. A finger, then two, three. Scissoring and stretching, probing for the pleasure spot, wanting to compensate for the pain he caused.

Alex arched, this time toward the source and not away. Fox removed his fingers, replacing them with his aching cock. Wanting to be gentle, wanting not to cause pain. And Alex was like a slick, velvet furnace. So tight and hot. So very good. It didn't take long, not for either of them. Fox held out until he felt Alex convulse and clench, then he was coming, shouting, an affirmation to life untainted by politics and hidden agendas.

"Thank you," he heard Alex whisper as he rolled off. This started his tears all over again.

"You're thanking me? For beating you bloody?" A slow understanding...Alex had been at least as hard as he was, just as aroused. Fox hard from beating, Alex hard from being beaten. It was a thing beyond his ken. "I don't understand."

"Yes you do," Alex said. "You just don't want to."

"Oh Alex, I'm so sorry..." An apology for doing it, for enjoying it.

"Mulder you did what I wanted. Exactly what I wanted. What I needed. Thank you, Mulder. Thank you."

All Mulder could do was cry and try to hold him without hurting him any more.

* * *

"Redemption through pain is an awfully broad subject, Mulder," Agent Dana Scully said sitting down in front of her computer. "Can I ask why you're interested?"

"Just something I stumbled onto this weekend. Wanted to brush up in case the subject ever turns up in an X-file."

She turned and looked at him, trying to read under the surface. "Why would you think there's ever going to be an X-file about it?" she asked, glaring at him, trying to will him into telling her what was really going on.

"Just a hunch, Scully. That's all. Just a hunch."

END

Feedback. Please. 

 

* * *

 

Strays III  
by mocomab  
Date: September, 1999  
Rating: NC17 for smutty sex between men.  
Warning: Includes consensual spanking.  
Feedback:   
Archive: Anywhere, but please let me know  
Pairing: M/Sk, M/K implied  
Spoilers: Most everything pre-6 Season.  
Summary: Krycek's gone, so Mulder turns to Skinner to scratch his itch.  
Disclaimers: Characters aren't mine. They make me no money, and I returned them undamaged. Relatively.  
Author's Note: You don't have to read "Strays I or II" to make sense of this, but I surely wish you would, and it'd probably help. Find them at TER/MA and Archive/X  
Another Author's Note: Although this installment isn't Alex-the-Rat centered, the next one will be. Bear (or is it bare?) with me. Beta thanks, dark chocolate ratboys and red, red wine to Amanda and Quercus. Remaining errors belong entirely to me. Mucho thanks to Xanthe for encouragement, friendship and metaphorical spanking.

* * *

"You knew this wasn't an X-File when you sent us there!" said Fox Mulder in full rant mode. He stood so quickly he overturned his chair, causing Scully to jump and yelp. "You set us up, you son of a bitch!" He leaned over Skinner's desk, eyes blazing, invading his supervisor's space.

Skinner wasn't impressed. "I set no one up, Agent Mulder," he said through clenched teeth, rising himself. He was just as tall as Mulder, and almost half again as wide. "You were sent to Illinois to investigate a series of murders. If they didn't live up to your expectations, well, I'd think at your age, you'd have learned to deal with disappointment." His words were controlled, but the trembling in his arms showed the control to be tenuous.

"You waste us!" Mulder shouted. "You send us on bullshit assignments any first year plebe could handle and expect us to bend over and smile."

"I *expect* you to do your jobs, Agent Mulder. I *expect* you to follow my orders. This isn't the debating society, and I don't owe you explanations. I *expect* you to act like professionals. That means not insulting field agents and local law enforcement personnel. It means following the same rules as everyone else. It means filing timely and complete reports, Agent Mulder, *not* this drivel!" he shook the report for emphasis.

"What's wrong with our report?" asked Scully, indignant. She'd been up half the night working on it.

"'We came, we solved, we kicked ass' is not my idea of a *complete* report, Agent Scully." Skinner told her.

"What?" She snatched the paper from his hand to see for herself. "This isn't the report I wrote! Mulder, dammit..."

"Oh, fuck this shit!" Mulder turned, kicked the overturned chair savagely out of his path and stormed out of Skinner's back door.

"Sir," Scully began, breaking the ensuing silence. "Our report is on my computer. I'll just go run it out for you..."

"E-mail it later, Scully." He sat back down, breathing deeply. Obviously fighting for control. "Please tell me his water's drugged."

"It's not," she said in a small voice. "I checked."

"Really?" She knew what he was thinking, that this was more than a mere Mulder-tantrum if Scully was worried enough to take water samples. "You mean it's not just me he's trying to make crazy?"

No, she wanted to say, it's not just you, it's particularly you. Instead, she settled for an ambiguous, "Mulder's been rather agitated lately."

"Any idea why?" She hesitated, so he went on, "It's affecting his work, Scully."

Treading carefully, she said, "Mulder's working something out. I don't know what it is, but you seem to symbolize something to him. You personally. Or your position."

"He's on thin ice, Scully. You tell him that." She nodded, eyes wide. "Dismissed."

Scully rose to leave, hesitating. "Sir. There's an explanation. I know there is."

"There'd better be."

* * *

Fox Mulder mentally kicked himself all the way down the corridor to the men's room. What the hell is wrong with you? Do you want to get fired? The answer was 'no.' He didn't want to get fired. He wanted to get fucked. By his boss.

What he didn't want was to sit in a meeting with Skinner and a hard on. The more Skinner yelled, the harder Mulder got, the real reason he'd run out of the office. He wasn't that angry at Skinner; he just couldn't stop himself

from antagonizing the man. He wanted Skinner's anger and Skinner's violence. He wanted to feel...what? The back of Skinner's hand? Skinner's belt on his back? Skinner's cock up his ass? He wanted...dark and bloody things, and it was all Alex Krycek's fault.

Damn him.

Alex with his nightmares and his need to be beaten. Alex with his stupid offhand comments that Mulder couldn't get out of his mind.

"You could do worse than Skinner," Alex had told him. "Don't tell me you've never fantasized about those big hands of his having their way with your nubile body." Well, no he hadn't, not until Krycek put the thought in his head. And now he couldn't get it out.

Mulder stood in the blessedly empty restroom and stared at himself in the mirror.

"You are insane," he said out loud and stared at his reflection until his cock softened and shrank, refusing to go into one of the stalls and jack off. He may be crazy, but he wasn't desperate. Not yet.

* * *

"Dammit, Mulder," Scully said then stopped when Mulder walked into their office. How many conversations had she started like this in the past month? It would be easier to count how many she hadn't. "Mulder," she began again, softer, "you have to stop this."

"I know I do, Scully. I'm sorry...it won't happen again."

"Can't you tell me what's wrong?" She'd thought he could tell her anything. She certainly knew way more than she ever wanted to about Fox Mulder and his weird psyche.

He looked at her and smiled sadly, making her feel a rush of affection for her tormented--and tormenting--partner. "Not this time."

"It's Krycek, isn't it?" she asked with a sudden stab of insight. "He's come back, and he's done something to you."

"Half right," Mulder busied himself at his desk so as not to look at her. "Alex came back, but he didn't do anything to me. Not really."

"Really?"

Mulder smiled. "God, you're beautiful," he told her, deflecting. "My life would be much less complicated if I'd fallen in love with you."

"You need to talk to someone," she said, not falling for it. "Before you do something stupid."

"Stupid?" he repeated stupidly.

"Yes, Mulder, stupid. You're getting ready to do something stupid, and I don't want to be the one to have to bail you out or fix you up or rescue you when you do it."

"Fine, you won't be," angry now, with visions of leather bars dancing in the back of his head.

"Fine."

"Fine," he repeated, not wanting her to have the last word.

"Fine," daring him to repeat it again. He didn't. "And be careful of Skinner. You're on thin ice." She looked back at him. "That's a direct quote by the way."

Mulder simply nodded. Thin ice, indeed. It was all ice with Skinner.

The two agents worked in tense silence for the rest of the afternoon.

"You going to stay all weekend, Mulder?" Scully asked finally at 5:30.

He shook his head. "I just want to finish up these expense reports. Honest," he said at her raised eyebrow. Mulder never did their expenses. "I'll be good," he promised.

She sighed, nodded and finally left. A Friday night was the same as any other to Fox Mulder. Might as well fill out nightmare expense forms. Anything to make amends. He hated having Scully mad at him, especially when he deserved it.

By 8 p.m. he'd run out of forms to complete. Mulder sighed, put the expense reports neatly on Scully's desk to show her he'd been a good boy and turned out the lights. The dark urgency that had held him tight in Skinner's office this afternoon was back, and he knew he had to do something about it. Scully's 'something stupid.'

He wanted, no he *needed*--he was sure it was need--what he'd given Alex Krycek a month ago: sex and a brutal whipping. A temporary cure, claimed Mulder's pet assassin, for nightmares. After what Mulder perceived to be mind-blowing sex, Alex had fished an old belt out of his closet and said, basically, "beat me." Mulder did (ashamed now that it hadn't taken much coercion) and found that he not only enjoyed it, but envied it as well. Alex, bloodied beyond belief, had been hard enough to cut diamonds. The sex then, like "make-up" sex with a bloody edge, had been unbelievable. It was so good, said Krycek, comforting the guilt-ridden agent, that he was sure he'd sleep dream-free for weeks.

Ever since, Mulder had *craved* that bit of peace, no matter how fleeting. Nightmares of varying content had been his nightly companions since adolescence, beginning with the disappearance of his sister. Physical pain seemed a small price to pay for dreamless sleep. He, very literally, lusted after that kind of pain. But there was no one to give it to him. Alex wouldn't--couldn't--hurt him. He'd made that very clear. Anyway, Alex wasn't around.

AD Skinner had become the focus of Mulder's violent fantasies. For one, he fit the part physically. Plus, he was one of the very few people that Mulder actually respected and almost trusted. He didn't know anyone else he could even fantasize about. Trying to picture any of the Gunmen in a whip-wielding role was just strange. Mulder could only think of them together, anyway, and that was a place he just wasn't willing to go, not even in his imagination. His partner was out of the question, too. No doubt Scully would be devastating in SM accoutrements, but it was embarrassing enough sometimes having to work with her knowing some of the things she knew about him already.

Mulder had never cruised for sex, but he was quickly reaching that point. Alex said you could buy what he'd needed, but *where*? He'd never said, and Mulder could only guess. It was a dangerous business. How to tell the sickos from the mere perverts?

Horny, agitated, scared and on edge, Fox Mulder walked into the nearly empty parking garage and ran smack dab into Assistant Director Walter Skinner.

"Fuck!" said Agent Mulder.

Assistant Director Skinner growled, reached out a lazy arm and SLAM! Mulder found himself thrown hard against a wall, pinned by a large, meaty forearm and a linebacker's body.

"I have a headache," said the AD. "It started when you walked into my office this afternoon. It got worse during the three hours I spent with the budget committee, pretty much on my knees, extolling the virtue of your X-Files. And all you can say to me is 'fuck'?"

"Fuck," Mulder said again, softly.

Skinner increased the pressure against Mulder. "You really don't want to piss me off," he said.

There was a snarl on Skinner's face, and it was close to Mulder's. Close enough to kiss. Mulder felt himself harden. Skinner must have felt it too, because the snarl turned to surprise and the grip loosened. "You'd be surprised at what I want," Mulder whispered back, ducking under the restraining arm and making his escape. Embarrassed, humiliated and oh-so turned on, he felt Skinner's eyes follow him as he all but ran to his car.

* * *

Fox Mulder sat in his dark apartment talking to his three-legged cat and sipping indifferently from a half-empty bottle of vodka. He'd consumed the first half a month ago with Alex Krycek between rounds of mind-blowing sex. Now he sat with the cat in the dark, contemplating the inextricable relationships in his life and worrying about how to word his resignation. This at the same time he was reliving each and every time AD Skinner had restrained him, contained him, or made eye contact with him in the past five years. The curse of an eidetic memory.

He was achingly hard.

Just punishment, he thought, for the sin of wanting his boss. Damn Krycek! This was his fault. Mulder was doing just fine, thank you very much, with his porn collection and firm right hand. Then comes Alex-I-want-you-to-love-me-Krycek battering his way through all of Mulder's thoughtfully constructed defenses. Making him feel. Making him want.

Want what? Alex Krycek in his bed. Someone to hold onto in the dark. Someone stronger than either Mulder or his damaged lover. Someone to punish him for his sins, to wash away his guilt with pain and blood. Someone to fight the demons that plagued his nights and haunted his days.

"Shit!"

The knocking on his front door was insistent. Just drunk and horny enough to be snarly, Mulder stalked to his door and tore it open, not bothering to look out the peephole first.

"This had better." he began then stopped, the presence of his boss rendering him speechless. He blinked once, but the Skinner apparition didn't go away. "God hates me," was all Mulder said before turning around and heading back for his couch, leaning with his back against the far arm, covering his jutting erection with a sequined throw pillow brought home from his last sojourn to Graceland.

Skinner followed him, still silent. They stared at one another, Mulder from his couch and Skinner standing off to the side.

Mulder broke first. "What?"

"I want an explanation."

"An explanation? From me?" Mulder glared up at his boss, working at the anger, needing its protection. Skinner stayed silent. "As I recall, I wasn't the one assaulting subordinates."

"No," Skinner agreed amiably. "You were the one with the hard-on."

Mulder opened his mouth for a retort, but nothing came out. He met Skinner's unrelenting gaze for as long as he could stand it, then collapsed, sagging into his tacky pillow. He groaned audibly, then mumbled, "You'll have my resignation Monday."

"I don't want your resignation, Agent Mulder," said the AD, not changing expression. "I want an explanation."

"I don't have one."

Silence. Stretching, stretching, like Mulder's nerves, taut and brittle, ready to snap.

"I'm waiting, Agent Mulder."

Mulder gave a little yip, startled. He forced himself to look up into the unyielding gaze. "What do you want me to say?" he whispered. "That I can't walk into a room with you in it without getting an erection? That just hearing your voice makes me so horny I could scream? Hell, Skinner, someone says your name in my hearing and my cock twitches. That what you want to hear?" Mulder was shouting by the end of his tirade. He stared up at Skinner, swore and grabbed the vodka from off the coffee table. He took a big swig and set it back down with a bang.

Unfazed, Skinner merely watched for a moment before saying, "I never pictured you as a vodka drinker."

Surprised, Mulder replied, "I'm not, usually. It was just here. Someone left it."

"Someone?"

"Yeah, someone." Alex-fucking-Krycek-someone. At that moment, Alex-fucking-Krycek's namesake walked in from the bedroom and stalked across the floor. If a three-legged cat could be said to stalk. It had a curious gate, oddly graceful in its way, and somewhat jaunty.

Skinner watched the cat, kitten really, standing unmoving as it twined its way around his legs.

"This is the infamous Alex, I take it," said Skinner.

"Alex-the-Cat," supplied Mulder. "Not to be confused with Alex-the-Rat." Said cat jumped onto the cushions, then up to the back of the couch where he settled comfortably and proceeded to groom his tail.

"The vodka drinker." It was not a question.

Mulder looked, then nodded. What was the downside?

"So," Skinner went on. "Back to our situation."

Mulder merely looked at him.

"Mulder, we've worked together for more than five years. This little.problem of yours has been going on for what? Four weeks? What happened?"

More silence.

"Scully's afraid you're going to go do something stupid, and I have to agree with her."

Mulder found his voice. "Scully!? She talked to you? She had no right! I can't believe."

"Scully didn't have to say anything to me, Mulder, and she didn't. Wouldn't. I recognize that little line she gets between her eyes. She only has it when she knows you're going to go off on a tear, and she knows she can't stop you." He paused for a moment, appraising. "What did Alex Krycek do to you?"

God! I'm transparent, Mulder thought.

"Mulder?" The voice was kind now.

Mulder closed his eyes, remembering. "It was Friday. I came home and went for a run. A long run. When I got back," he hesitated. What part to tell? All of it? None of it? "Krycek was here."

"And?"

"We talked. He fucked me."

Mulder stared at Skinner, gauging the reaction.

"And?"

"And we talked some more. Drank some vodka."

"Uh huh. Then what?"

"What do you want? A play by play?"

"An explanation, Agent Mulder."

"Okay, you want it all? Here it is: He broke in here. We talked. We fucked. We drank. He rummaged through my closet and found a belt. I beat the shit out of him with it. We fucked. End of story. Anything else?"

If Skinner was shocked, he didn't show it. "Did you enjoy it?"

"The fucking? Oh, yeah. It was great." Mulder's try at sarcasm was sadly lacking.

"No. Did you enjoy beating him?"

Mulder opened his mouth to say 'fuckin' A, I liked it' or 'betcherass' or some such, but that all died. "Yes," he said in a small confessional voice. Ashamed.

"How did it make you feel?"

"Like God."

"And you want to do it again." A statement.

This got Mulder's attention. "No! No, I don't. I don't think I could. I want.I don't want.to do that. Again. I don't."

"What do you want?"

"What?"

"You don't want to do *that*. What do you want?"

"I want.I want." Mulder closed his eyes, misery overwhelming him. "I want.someone to do that to me.I want."

"You want?"

"You. I want you." Raw now. Naked. Nothing left to lose. "I want you."

And now Skinner's eyes closed. "Oh, god, Mulder. Do you have any idea how addicting that is? Do you?" This last emphatically, "Do you?"

Mulder shook his head. Helpless.

"It's like a hundred times worse than cocaine. You have no idea."

"And you do?"

"Oh, yeah. I do." Waiting again, the two of them, and this time it was Skinner who broke first. "You know something about Viet Nam," he began. "You can imagine how guilty I was. Surviving. I needed." He sat finally and reached for the vodka. "There was a place in Saigon that answered my needs. Where I could be punished for being alive. Absolved of the sin of surviving. I learned things there. I learned real well."

"Teach me."

"You're drunk. You don't know what you're asking."

"So are you, or you wouldn't be here."

"Fuck you, Mulder," Skinner growled, glaring. He took a long pull at the vodka, head tipped back, throat working, and Mulder thought he'd come from the sight. He dug his fingers into the pillow on his lap to keep from lunging for that throat, his mouth watering for a taste of Skinner-skin. The AD slammed the bottle down on the coffee table with a loud crack, making Mulder jump and the cat hiss. He stood, never breaking the glare. "You still want this tomorrow, Mulder, after you're sober, you come to my place. Plan on spending the weekend." He turned abruptly and strode toward the door.

"Wait!" Mulder was up on his feet, protective pillow forgotten. "Sir," he began when Skinner stopped. "Uh, you've moved, uh, since.I.don't know where you live."

"You're a trained investigator, Mulder. Figure it out."

Anger flared, a sharp, fine companion to the lust. "Jesus, you're a son of a bitch. If you don't want this so much, why do it?" Mulder clung to his anger, breathing hard, using it to keep from whimpering.

Skinner's glare softened into one of his rarely seen almost-smiles. He looked nearly.kind. "You think you're the only one in staff meetings sportin' a woody, Mulder?"

Mulder opened his mouth, but nothing emerged, his mind refusing to explore the ramifications of that statement. He stood silent until Skinner was out the door, then sagged against the wall, hyperventilating silently.

* * *

Walter Skinner excelled at waiting. It was something he was good at. He waited all Saturday morning while he mowed his postage-stamp-sized lawn and did his laundry. He waited while he dug his way through the pile of paperwork he'd brought home from the office. He waited with confidence, knowing that as soon as Fox Mulder methodically catalogued and discounted all the good, logical reasons *not* to come to Skinner's, he'd come.

Skinner wondered idly, as he redlined extraneous charges on some green agent's tardy expense report, how many times Mulder would actually turn the car around and head back for home. He'd give himself two points for each turnaround Mulder admitted to, and a bonus of 10 points if he brought the cat. Skinner played this tallying game often, making bets with himself over this or that, amusing himself with how closely he knew his people.

* * *

Mulder had no problem finding out Walter Skinner's new address, but he resented like hell having to do it. It felt like homework. A small part of him wanted to say to hell with it and let Skinner think he'd come to his senses. The rest of him, the parts that housed his darker fantasies and more covert obsessions, ruled, however, and he found himself parked outside Walter Skinner's townhouse.

The thirty-minute trip had taken him two-and-a-half hours. The first time out he'd made it almost halfway before deciding he couldn't leave Alex alone overnight. So it was back to the apartment to gather up the cat and all its necessities. He didn't make it out of the parking lot the second time before running back up to the apartment to change clothes. The third time he was just outside of Alexandria when the thought hit him that he should bring something, a bottle of wine perhaps, and turned back to get the two bottles of Kendall James Merlot that his mother had given him.

The fourth time had taken him all the way to Skinner's, although he still hadn't turned off the car.

Alex, unhappy in his buckled-in cardboard cat carrier, yowled continuously while Mulder hit his head softly against the steering wheel. Fearing Skinner's discovery in this state more than brain damage, he turned off the ignition and gathered his courage.

"Stay," he told Alex, needing to feel in control of *something.*

* * *

Skinner waited for the second ring of the doorbell before rising from his desk to answer it. His agent leaned against the jam, looking like a sullen teenager sent to the principal's office. Mulder was dressed in black jeans, a faded Grateful Dead t-shirt and Reeboks that were too broken down to be any good for running. The big man looked him up and down for a time before saying, "Pull your car into the garage," by way of greeting. He shut the door in Mulder's face, giving him no chance to respond.

Mulder looked even more pouty when he exited his car in Skinner's oversized garage. Skinner had to work at not grinning at his agent's expression, opting instead for a neutral, "You can put the catbox in here; we'll leave the door open for him." He came close to losing it at Mulder's stunned look.

"How did." Mulder began, then stopped with a visible effort.

Ten points, Skinner thought. "Come into the living room when you get Alex settled, Mulder. I've got some work to finish up." He started to walk away but turned back to say, "There's beer in the refrigerator. You may have one."

"I brought wine."

Skinner allowed himself a small smile. "Good," he said, leaving Mulder to his tasks.

* * *

Mulder followed Alex-the-Cat into the living room where Walter Skinner was working at his desk. It was cozy. There were more books than videos on the shelves of the tri-sectioned entertainment center, the TV/VCR large but not obnoxiously so, the stereo system good and the furniture designed for a tall man's comfort. The gas fireplace had the look of something often used.

Mulder was a little uneasy about letting the cat loose, but Skinner had all but implied that it'd have the run of the place. Still, he relaxed somewhat when the AD smiled at the little cat's territorial rubbing of his khaki-clad legs.

"I've got another half-hour or so to go," Skinner told Mulder after properly greeting the cat. "Just relax and stay quiet. I'm trying to make sense of Donelly's latest tome. How that woman can convolute the most straightforward of kidnappings is a mystery I may have you look into."

Mulder snorted but stayed dutifully quiet. He was familiar with Agent Donelly's written histrionics. A bright, steady field agent, her melodramatic reports were the stuff of legend.

Anyway, Mulder needed the time to think about what he was doing. He'd been running on hormones and adrenaline since Friday afternoon, his obsessive cravings ruling him. Here, in Walter Skinner's homey townhouse, reality began to seem too.real. He wondered if Cinderella had ever looked into the eyes of her fairy godmother and seen the face of Death. He wondered who the hell this man was and what he'd done with Assistant Director Skinner. He wondered if he was crazy.

He was, after all, the FBI's most brilliant profiler, a psychologist who specialized in aberrant behavior, and he was totally clueless as to why he was sitting on his boss's plaid couch drinking his boss's imported beer waiting patiently to get beaten and/or fucked by same said boss.

He then wondered if he was assuming too much. Skinner had never said exactly what was going to happen. Maybe, maybe Skinner wouldn't do anything. Maybe he was here just to talk. Then again, maybe Skinner was a really discrete psychopath (who better to hide nefarious deeds than an assistant director of the FBI?). Perhaps Mulder was to be the headline act in some shady government sex club. Skinner had probably invited all the other assistant directors over to witness Mulder's humiliation. He'd be bound and gagged, probably blindfolded, and unseen government denizens would torture him and use him. If he started smelling cigarette smoke, he knew he'd scream like a girl and wet himself.

He whimpered.

"If you're going to torture yourself, Mulder, what do you need me for?" Skinner asked him without turning around.

Mulder tried to stammer out an answer. He stopped when Skinner turned and smiled at him, feeling himself blush.

"Relax, Mulder. I'm almost done. Why don't you play with the cat for awhile." It wasn't a request.

"I, um, I'm not sure where he is."

"Under here," Skinner said, tearing a sheet of paper off the yellow legal pad he'd been making notes on, "battling the phone cord." Skinner wadded up the paper, reaching under the desk with it. Mulder could see his arm moving, then it shot backwards, sending the ball of paper flying across the living room with Alex in hot pursuit. Skinner grinned at Mulder, looking pleased with himself, then turned back to his report.

Mulder knew he had to get himself under control. He'd known Skinner for years. The man wasn't going to hurt him. Much. He didn't think. He didn't think, hadn't thought, and that was the problem. God, why am I here? Mulder fell off the couch onto his knees, hoping to hide another whimper, and crawled off to pursue the cat and its paper ball.

Mulder intercepted the paper wad and thwacked it back to Alex, starting a pretty decent volley. While it didn't look easy for the cat, only having one front leg with which to bat, Alex seemed to enjoy himself. Mulder lost himself in the silliness of the game, focusing entirely on the yellow wad of paper and the little gray cat. He forgot Skinner and where he was and even the partial erection he'd endured since first leaving Alexandria.

"He's got you trained," Skinner said, startling him after one particularly athletic "save" that had Mulder almost somersaulting across the living room.

Mulder froze, then rose slowly to stand before the man he'd been lusting after for the past month. "Think you'll do as well?" he asked softly.

Skinner moved very close. Mulder smelled fabric softener from his shirt, fresh grass and the slight tang of beer breath. "I'm not much into slaves, Mulder," he said reaching a hand out to trace a path down the side of the agent's face. Skinner searched his eyes, making Mulder wonder what he saw there. "Being called 'master' makes me giggle." His hand moved into Mulder's hair, combing through it, moving down to the back of his neck, around to his throat, stroking, petting, making Mulder swell. "It's not a pleasant sound."

Skinner kissed him then, and he thought he'd die.

Skinner's kiss was like the rest of him, substantial and strong, nothing frivolous or fancy, just welcoming, secure. Not the scalding fire of Alex Krycek's kisses, this was more like breathing crisp, clean air on a bright mountain morning. Skinner's kiss felt like home was supposed to, and Fox Mulder felt like Moses coming out of the desert after 40 years of wandering.

He moaned with loss when the kiss ended, closing his eyes to lean into Skinner's touch. This was so much more than he'd expected. Skinner turned him around so Mulder's back leaned against his chest, reached around and traced the outline of Jerry Garcia's young face saying, "I never figured you for a Dead Head," while nuzzling tender skin under Mulder's ear.

"Not mine," Mulder moaned, trying for coherency. "Wore it for--oh, god! Yeah, right there." Skinner was gently chewing on his lobe, tongue swirling sometimes in his ear, behind it, back of neck, alternating chews with licks, not enough to mark, just.sensation. ".for courage."

Skinner stopped for a moment. "Courage?" he asked the back of Mulder's neck. "Jesus, Mulder. You're the most fearless man I know." He chuckled, sending small vibrating shivers down Mulder's already vibrating frame. "Courage, Christ. Well then, let's give you something to be frightened of." He bit down on Mulder's shoulder, through the shirt, gnawing hard. His hands pulled the shirt free of the jeans and roamed his chest, fingers combing through the sparse chest hair, kneading at tight stomach muscles, caressing hard nipples.

"This game has but one rule, Mulder, and that's honesty. Your reactions, *our* reactions, must be honest, or there's no point. Can you do that, Mulder? Does Krycek's shirt make you that brave?"

"How did," Mulder began, trying hard to make his mouth work past his lust-induced stupor. Fear and adrenaline contributed to his state, also, making the formation of words nearly impossible.

"Who else's shirt would it be? You wouldn't fit into Scully's." Skinner pinched one aroused nipple hard at the same time he bit into the opposite shoulder. He released both when Mulder screamed, moving one hand down to rub the denim-covered erection that was so boldly straining at the buttons of Mulder's 501's.

"Do you use it to masturbate, Mulder? Do you? Do you sit alone at night and caress yourself with Alex Krycek's old t-shirt, rubbing yourself, picturing him? And after you come, do you bring the shirt to your face, pretending it's his spunk you're smelling and not your own? Do you taste it?" Skinner's voice was down to a harsh whisper, almost brutal in its intensity. One large hand massaging tense neck muscles while the other kneaded Mulder's groin and thighs.

Mulder moaned, lost in the images and memories, and would have fallen but for Skinner's support. It was overwhelming, this, the thought of Alex and the feel of Skinner. Heaven and hell, melding. And he felt guilty, as if he were betraying a lover, but couldn't tell who it was he was betraying, Skinner or Krycek, and his balls were tightening under Skinner's hands. "Don't," he managed to say //or you'll make me come// "make me choose."

His words froze them both. They were words he'd not intended to say, had no thought to say, and they frightened him. They meant that he wanted more, felt deeper, than he'd ever consciously known. Mulder despaired under Skinner's silence until he heard the whispered "all right," and the hands began again.

"Let's get you upstairs," Skinner said finally, just in time to keep Mulder from creaming in his pants, using his low, almost-whisper voice. "It's time to start. Before we both lose it." His hands stopped their roaming caress. They rested lightly on Mulder's shoulders.

"Shouldn't we.shouldn't we talk about.about.negotiate what's gonna." Although he could now form words, Mulder wasn't yet capable of complete sentences.

"Negotiate?" Skinner turned him until they were face to face. "There's nothing to negotiate, Mulder. You either trust me or you don't."

And there it was. Trust. Could he? He stared for half an eternity into those deep chocolate orbs replaying all the times this man had put his career on the line on Mulder's--or Scully's-- say-so, thinking about how many times he'd awakened in nameless hospitals to this face, how many lives he owed. Did he trust Skinner?

How could he not?

A nod and they were moving, Skinner in the lead. Mulder was so frightened he tasted copper and realized he'd chewed the inside of his cheek open. It was then he knew that it was not Skinner he was afraid of, but himself. He feared failing and disappointing, not measuring up. He feared not being able to take whatever Skinner would dish out. But most of all he feared losing himself, which was what he so badly wanted, and it was a conundrum to which there was no answer, no solution.

Top of the stairs and to the right. Mulder passed through the gates of hell into Walter Skinner's bedroom. Beautiful place, a suite really. More large furniture and a step-down into an open bathing area. Enclosed shower stall and a big whirlpool tub. Skylights. It was the bedroom of a sensualist, not strait-arrow AD Skinner.

"I have a few vices," Skinner answered Mulder's dumbstruck look. "This is one of them." He gripped Mulder's chin and turned him away from the tub. "You're another." He reached in for another kiss, this one hard and demanding. Claiming. Mulder moaned under the assault. "This is it, Mulder," Skinner said when he broke the kiss. "From now until Monday morning you're mine. You make no decisions. Have no obligations. Answer only to me. And nothing, *nothing* that happens within the next 24 hours is your fault. It can't be because you have no control. That belongs to me. You belong to me. Any blame is mine."

Mulder looked at him, stunned. "But I came here," he whispered.

"Finally," Skinner said to his neck, breathing deeply. He peeled Alex Krycek's t-shirt off Mulder's lanky frame and explored the bared flesh with his lips and tongue while his hands busied themselves with the buttons of Mulder's 501's.

Mulder stood naked beside the bed while Skinner turned down the spread. He shivered, cold, although the air conditioning was not turned up, misery and lust vying for domination. Then the big hands were on him again, soothing rather than arousing.

"You'll be fine, Fox," Skinner said while stroking him. Down his arms and back, around his buttocks to his groin, stroking Mulder's erection, smearing the pre-come on his hand. While Mulder watched, transfixed, Skinner licked it clean. He grinned at Mulder's expression. "Appetizer," he said, making Mulder harder than he'd ever thought was possible.

"Kneel here," Skinner went on to say. "Crosswise on the bed. Butt up. Yeah, like that." Mulder let himself be positioned with his knees on the edge of the bed, chest down, legs apart, ass high. It was the most vulnerable position a man could be in, and if there were still any coherent thoughts in his head, he would have cried with the humiliation. As it was, his perception had narrowed to the sound of Skinner's voice, the feel of Skinner's hands and the waves of adrenaline pounding through his chest.

"Beautiful Fox, listen to me. We'll start slowly. Baby steps. Nothing will touch you but me. This time. I want to take you some place that you've never been before. Where you can find the peace you so desperately want. There're no answers where we're going, Fox, so don't bother trying to find any. There's only sensation, and if we do it right, peace for a little while. A little bit of oblivion." He massaged Mulder's buttocks, bringing his thumbs down into the crease, spreading the cheeks apart. "Stay in this position as long as you can, Fox. And don't worry about noise. This place is soundproof, so yell if you want to. Cuss me. Whatever. Remember: Nothing you do is wrong. Here," he placed Krycek's black shirt within Mulder's reach. "Hold onto this if you'd like. For courage." Skinner laid a gentle kiss on his right butt cheek, lingered briefly before moving to the other one.

Mulder grasped the shirt convulsively, totally without words for one of the few times in his life. He wanted punishment. He wanted this man. He was so frightened and so aroused and so not wanting to be where he was.

The first slap caught him completely off guard. He yelped with the suddenness of it, but before he really registered what was happening, Skinner gave another sharp slap to the opposite cheek. Back and forth, in the same place usually, until his ass was hot and numb with pain. He'd wanted this, loved the idea of pain, was turned on by it, but he had no idea that it would hurt so much.

Intellectual pain and real pain were so different.

The slaps landed on the same spot mostly, numbing and dull, but every fourth or seventh slap was placed elsewhere, and that pain would be sharp and new, exaggerated somehow. At first, it was erotic, strangely intimate. But under the inexorable blows, the intimacy became a violation, the pain a knife, skinning away layers upon layers of walls. Here was a place where his sharp intellect and biting wit held no sway. He felt naked and exposed.

Mulder knew in his very soul that once all his layers had been peeled away, at the very core of his existence, would be nothing worthwhile. Like an onion, he would peel away to nothing. But as Skinner and his blows stripped away those layers, the pain stayed, letting Mulder know that he was still there. Even without his disguises, underneath it all, Mulder was still Mulder. And Skinner was there with him, an agent of that peace-giving torment. He felt the heat radiating off the big man's body, smelled his arousal and the sweat from his exertion. For once in his life, Mulder was not alone.

He heard sobs, overriding the sounds of skin slapping skin and Skinner's heavy breathing. They soothed him for a time, made him grateful that Skinner was crying for him. When he became aware that they were his own sobs, he was appalled, ashamed. Men don't cry, he heard his father say and braced himself for William Mulder's drunken derision and ready right hand. Which never came. All he heard through the sobs were murmured words of comfort, telling him that he was brave and strong and wonderful. They were wrong, of course, but it was still lovely to hear.

He was stretched out across the bed, on his stomach, and that was wrong, too. He cried in earnest then. Skinner had told him to stay on his knees and he hadn't. He'd fucked up again, as always. Couldn't even take a beating right. It's no wonder people died because of him and his too-slow profiles, because he wasn't fast enough or smart enough. No wonder his sister was taken, his partner abducted.

But Skinner didn't seem disappointed. He'd stopped the blows and was rubbing something cool on Mulder's enflamed ass, telling Mulder how proud he was, how no one else had ever been as good.

"I'm sorry, sorry, I'm so sorry," Mulder sobbed out, apologizing for not following orders, for crying, for so many failures.

"I know you are, Fox. It's okay. I forgive you." No one had ever forgiven him before.

His weeping slowed after a time, as it had to, with Mulder wiping his tears and snot with Krycek's shirt. He giggled a little, thinking how pissed Alex would be when he found out the uses Mulder put his shirt to. Skinner was still caressing his backside, and Mulder leaned into it, pain and pleasure all fused together in the glowing warmth. Skinner chuckled, then said, "Back on your knees, boy. You're not done, yet."

Mulder obeyed with some effort, sighing regretfully at the loss of his current euphoria but willing to follow the big man's edicts no matter where they took him. He positioned himself as best he could, ass high and knees spread, waiting for the blows to begin again.

He started when the first dribbles of cool lube hit his hot butt and trickled into the crease. Oh, yeah. That's what comes next. Fucking. Wonderful. Mulder opened himself even wider, grunting in appreciation when the first finger entered him. Slow fucking with that finger, and then there were two and they curved up to his prostate and oh, my, that was nice. He was very hard and wondered if touching himself was allowed. Before he could think how to form the question, Skinner was leaning over him, free hand moving up his back and down his arm and gentling coaxing Alex Krycek's t-shirt out of his grip.

"Shh," he soothed at Mulder's wordless protest. "I need this now." He rubbed Mulder with the shirt, arms and back, around to the chest, covering Mulder with Krycek's shirt, finally using it to engulf Mulder's straining erection. He milked Mulder in a slow counterpoint to his finger fucking, making Mulder feel every stroke and movement. It was such sweet torture that Mulder didn't ever want it to end, but he hadn't the reserves to stave off the orgasm that shoved him clear into a hard-won oblivion.

He knew there was something missing even as he felt Skinner cleaning him off and maneuvering him into the bed. He thought hard, fighting his way through satiated exhaustion and an overload of orgasm-induced serotonin. "You didn't come," he said, finally putting words to the concept.

"I will later," said the assistant director, stroking his hair.

"You should come now," Mulder said sleepily, fighting to keep his eyes open. "In Krycek's shirt."

"You're a fucking pervert, Mulder," Skinner said, brushing his temples with a kiss.

"Yeah, I know. You gonna jack off for me? Let me smell you while I sleep?"

"You're too old for a security blanket," Skinner said, not really protesting and starting to undo his jeans. His organ was big and red and looked angry. Mulder had to admire his self-control; that couldn't have been comfortable. Skinner wrapped his cock in Krycek's well-used shirt and started stroking, keeping eye contact with an almost unconscious Mulder. It didn't take long for his strokes to become erratic. He came cursing, ending with an "oh god Fox" on the final spasm.

Mulder smiled and reached out for the shirt, caressing Skinner's sensitive organ as he took it from the now slack grip. "Never had a security blanket," he said, inhaling deeply and cuddling the nasty shirt under his chin. "Making up for lost time." Skinner's deep chuckle was the last thing he heard before giving up consciousness.

* * *

It was dark when Mulder woke up in a large, strange bed in a large, luxurious bedroom. He smelled sex and of sex and his face was sticky with semen. Sometime during his deep, dreamless sleep, he'd turned and nuzzled his face into Alex Krycek's old Grateful Dead t-shirt and was now splotched with jism. His and.Walter Skinner's.oh, god.and his butt hurt and *that* brought everything flooding back. Oh, god.

He got quietly out of bed and listened, hearing the faint sound of a television. Feeling comforted, Mulder stepped down into the bathroom and headed for the oversized shower stall. It was built, he decided, for giants who liked to party. There were crannies for soaps and shampoos, places to set drinks, nooks for a wet-n-dry radio and built-in seats in opposite corners. And best of all, two separate nozzles, both equipped with hand-held, adjustable massagers. Heaven.

He stood in the water and tried to process what had happened to him. He felt.relaxed. It was a strange feeling. He wasn't even drugged, just.relaxed.calm.very.very unlike himself. He thought maybe he liked it. He wondered why he wasn't embarrassed or humiliated. Trying to conjure up those feelings, he thought of his father, but even that wasn't enough to cause more than a feeble jolt of shame.

Shame or no, he couldn't spend the rest of the weekend in the shower. He tried to dress slowly, but all he really had to wear were his jeans. He couldn't put on Krycek's t-shirt, and he thought searching out one of Skinner's would be overstepping. Socks and shoes when he was shirtless seemed overdressed, so Mulder made his way downstairs both barefoot and barechested, feeling somewhat like a stray harem boy.

He found Skinner in the living room with the newspaper spread over his lap, although he didn't appear to be reading. The AD grinned up at Mulder and then thwacked the center of the paper with his thumb and forefinger. An answering thwack came from underneath the paper.

Puzzled, Mulder made his silent way to the couch, sinking to his knees in front of Skinner. A peek under the newspaper revealed his cat lying on its back in the secure valley formed by the AD's legs. Alex narrowed his eyes and flattened his ears at Mulder's intrusion. Kicking off from Skinner's hard stomach, he flipped over on his way to the floor and went careening around the living room to disappear somewhere in the kitchen.

Skinner raised his eyebrows at Mulder, who stayed on the floor and lowered his head to his boss's knees.

"That's not necessary, Fox," Skinner said, putting aside the paper to run his hand through Mulder's still-damp hair.

"I know," Mulder sighed. "Just let me...adore you for a minute."

Skinner snorted. "I take it you slept well?"

"Like the dead," Mulder replied without looking up. "How long was I out?"

"Little over five hours."

Mulder looked up, stunned, "I never sleep that long. Ever."

Skinner merely smiled. "You hungry?"

The lanky agent considered. "Yeah." This, too, was an anomaly.

"Well, come on then. I've got ribs in the crock pot and cornbread in the oven."

"Crock pot?"

"Yeah. Lazy man's barbecue. Come on, Mulder. You're going to need your strength."

That comment dried his mouth and woke up his cock. He could only stare at Skinner rising from the couch, his mind a cloud of lust. "Fox," the big man urged, offering a hand up. Still speechless, Mulder rose and followed his boss into the kitchen once again wondering just when exactly he'd lost his mind.

Dinner was wonderful. The meat was fall-apart tender with a sweetly spicy sauce. The cornbread contained real kernels of corn and bits of jalepeno peppers. Skinner rounded out the dinner with creamy coleslaw from a local delicatessen. Mulder ate like he hadn't touched food in days, which, in fact, he hadn't. His mother's wine topped the meal.

The men ate in companionable silence, Mulder for once without any fascinating trivia. As they slowed to a finish, Skinner broke the silence. "May I ask you a personal question?"

Mulder stopped in mid-chew. Here it comes, he thought, and wondered wildly how he could explain Krycek without seeming either pathetic or insane, knowing that no one who wasn't them could understand. He nodded slowly, not trusting his voice.

"How many times did you turn back before you actually got here?"

Mulder laughed in relief. "Christ! I don't know. Three, I think. Once for the cat, once to change clothes and once for the wine. How did you know?"

Skinner smiled and shrugged. "It's a game I play, making bets with myself about what people are going to do."

"Sounds like a profiler in the making. How often do you win?"

"More often than I lose. But then, I only do it about people I know. I'm not that insightful otherwise."

Mulder emptied the wine bottle, then looked inquiringly at Skinner. "Shall I open the second one?"

"Why not? We're not going anywhere."

Their eyes locked, and Mulder's cock twitched. He continued to stare into Skinner's dark eyes until the big man broke the spell. "The wine, Mulder?"

He took a steadying breath before attempting to stand, grateful for something to do. Opening wine was something he could control. He took his time, clearing his mind even as he twisted the cork out of the bottle. If he started to think, to wonder about what would happen next, he feared, well, he didn't know what he feared. He just knew that his world, yet again, had changed. It was scary how right and comfortable all this seemed. Scary and exhilarating. No wonder Krycek got off on it.

He refilled glasses. They sipped leisurely as they cleaned up, Mulder following Skinner's lead, feeling like a kid at a sleepover, making sure he didn't disgrace his upbringing.

"You like baseball, Mulder?" Skinner asked when they retired to the living room, flipping through channels to find a game. They watched the last half of a double header, cheering for different teams but vilifying the same announcers.

It was a relaxed interlude. Alex slept in a long stretch on the back of the couch, and Mulder could almost forget the bizarre circumstance under which he was here. Almost. He couldn't seem to stop anticipating though. By the bottom of the ninth, he'd ratcheted up his tension to the breaking point.

"Sir?"

"Yes, Mulder?"

"Are you...are we...uh...are you gonna fuck me?"

"Yes, Mulder." Skinner's lips twitched in an almost-smile. Mulder frowned at him, annoyed the big man was finding this so amusing. The deeper his frown, the wider Skinner's smile.

"Mulder?"

"What?" Very annoyed.

"Stop thinking."

Skinner reached across the couch to run his hand down Mulder's bare chest. "This is a good look on you," he said, tweaking a nipple.

Mulder gasped, annoyance forgotten. "Rent boys R us," he managed to say. Skinner slid over and replaced his pinching fingers with a sucking mouth.

"Do you like that?" he asked, moving over to the next one. "Tell me what you like."

"That. Oh, god yeah. Suck harder." Mulder arched back into Skinner's mouth, throwing his head back and disturbing the cat. Alex stretched and yawned, stepping down onto Mulder's shoulder to butt his furry head against Skinner's bald one, purring loudly.

Skinner made a grand effort to ignore it and keep the mood, but the little cat's insistent nuzzling was too much. The big man collapsed into Mulder's lap laughing and swearing, which caused a not unpleasant sensation in Mulder's groin.

"I'm gonna kill him," Mulder said, joining in the laughter. Alex had followed Skinner down and was sitting on his back purring loudly and kneading the back of Skinner's neck with his one, sharp-nailed front paw.

"Ow!" Skinner yelped, still laughing. "Get him off me, Mulder. Ow!"

While Fox disentangled the cat's tiny claws and attempted to discourage his interest in their activity, Skinner turned his face into Mulder's crotch and nuzzled his jean-clad groin, biting at the denim and pulling at the buttons.

"Bedroom, bedroom, bedroom," Mulder chanted while gently tossing the cat to the far end of the couch.

"Good idea," Skinner rasped, getting up and pulling Mulder with him.

They raced up the stairs, falling on the bed to grope each other like teenagers. Once naked, they calmed. Mulder seemed fascinated with Skinner's furred chest and the planes and valleys of his muscles, mapping that topography with tongue and lips, fingertips exploring this strange new world.

"It seems like I've wanted this forever," said Mulder, nipping at the taut skin just under his ribcage.

"Really?" Skinner tugged at his hair, pulling him up for a kiss. Long legs entwined while they leisurely ground against each other. Neither wanted to fire up the urgency, preferring to drag out the foreplay for as long as they could stand it.

A glib lie was ready to tumble from Mulder's lips, but Skinner's early caveat for honesty stopped him. "No. You were in the category of People I Never Fantasized About. Inviolate. Until..."

"Until you decided I'd be good at wielding a whip." The words were rueful, tinged with sadness.

Mulder buried his head in an armpit, tugging at the hair with his teeth. He shook his head. "Until Alex suggested you, it never occurred to me that you might be anything other than totally straight. That you might be available."

"Krycek *suggested* me. For this?" He removed Mulder's face from his armpit, where the agent was hiding to avoid eye contact.

"For *this*. Not for...the other. He doesn't know about...my wanting...that." He propped himself up on an elbow so he could see Skinner better, twined his top leg between Skinner's. "He told me that you'd take care of me. That he wouldn't like it, but then he wouldn't worry about me so much. I remember being shocked at his assumption that you'd even be interested." His free hand stroked Skinner's chest while he watched his lover's face. He could see the wheels turning, knew what Skinner was thinking.

"I don't think it means that *they* know anything about...anything. It's just that Alex...well, Alex looks at the world through bisexual eyes."

Skinner snorted. "Since he'll fuck anybody, he assumes everybody else will, too."

"Yeah." Mulder leaned in for a quick kiss. "He said something about thinking of those big hands of yours having your way with my nubile body. Once he put the thought in my head, I couldn't get it out."

"So, here we are."

"Yeah," he moved down to Skinner's chest, latched onto a nipple, worrying it gently with his teeth. "Are you sorry?" he asked, coming up for air.

A sigh. "I should be." A big hand combed through Mulder's hair. "But I'm not. I've wanted you for a long time."

Mulder rolled over to cover Skinner's body with his own. "Then take me," he said, grinding. They kissed, long and hard, and the urgency was back.

Skinner flipped them, growling deep in his throat, to put Mulder underneath. "Back or knees?" The big man bit him, hard, where neck meets shoulder, and that delicious pain sent a load of precome shooting down Mulder's cock.

"Knee...knees," Mulder managed to get out. "Ass hurts."

A deep chuckle, another bite at his neck and Skinner was off him, letting him turn over and position himself. He was back in his spanking position, and that was almost enough to make him come. Part of his mind, the psychologist, noted how quickly his body had learned to react to just this, being on his knees, vulnerable and open to this man.

A cool dribble of lube made him stop breathing until Skinner's fingers on his anus made him start again. He knew what this felt like, and his body remembered, too, relaxing into the probe of those long, thick fingers. He wanted this, wanted Skinner and wished for Alex, sending a thought--he'd never call it prayer--out to the universe to find and protect *that* lover even as he thanked whatever random forces shaped and formed *this* one. Then Skinner was entering him and all thought fled, leaving only sensation.

First there was the burn, pain-pleasure warring sweetly, heightening desire, generating pre-come almost continuously. He was so hard, and it felt so good. Skinner was singing to him, too, a Gregorian chant of 'so good so good so good' over and over, interspersed with his name, said in a way that wasn't the least bit annoying.

Skinner set a driving pace, using him hard, leaving bruises like fingerprints on his hips. It didn't take long, once he reached around to grasp Mulder, for the red-assed man to come, which triggered Skinner's own orgasm. Mulder felt him spasm, thinking with the tiny part of his brain that still functioned that they'd done okay for a first time. Way okay.

They lay together afterwards, silent and sated. Skinner stirred eventually, rising to perform the clean up. Mulder watched him wring out washcloths, wondering about the future. The food, the wine and the sex combined to make that worry distant and intellectual. He was emotionally unable, at that point, to care. But he did wonder. He smiled as Skinner wiped him.

"You okay?" the AD asked.

Mulder nodded. "You?"

Skinner wadded up the cloth and tossed it, with bulls-eye accuracy, into the sink. "Yeah." He laid back down, tugging at Mulder, who let himself be draped like a quilt over Skinner's body. "I think we're insane."

"Certifiably," Mulder agreed, nuzzling into Skinner's chest hair, breathing deep. He fell asleep that way, and his dreams were gentle, and filled with hope.

* * *

Mulder woke and found himself staring into emerald green eyes. Alex-the-Cat had found his way into bed with them, and draped himself around Skinner's bald pate. His long, gray-striped tail slapped leisurely across Skinner's face.

"Laugh, Mulder, and I'll kick your butt," the AD said without opening his eyes.

Fox chuckled. "It's a good look on you." A gentle payback for Mulder's shirtless state the night before.

"Don't get uppity, boy," Skinner growled, sending delightful shivers of lust through Mulder.

With eyes still closed, Skinner reached above his head to pet the cat and gently nudge him away. Alex gave an interrogatory chirrup before moving into a bone-cracking stretch. Then he stepped across Skinner's head to Mulder's chest, walked down the agent's torso to settle on a hip and begin grooming himself.

"Are we going to play some more?" Mulder asked tentatively.

Skinner finally opened his eyes. "No. We're going to clean out rain gutters." At Mulder's raised eyebrows he added, "It's all part of the torture."

"No games?"

Skinner shook his head.

"No sex?"

Another shake.

"None?"

"Nope." Skinner shooed the cat off Mulder, then rolled over to cover him. He bit Fox' neck gently, then moved lower, below the collar line, to suckle hard, marking. He moved lower, biting and sucking his way to Mulder's groin. Mulder arched when Skinner's mouth engulfed him.

"This isn't sex?" he managed to gasp.

"Uh uh," Skinner replied around the cock in his mouth, sending lovely vibrations through Mulder's cock and balls.

"I could get used to this kind of celibacy," Mulder murmured, closing his eyes and giving into the sensations.

"Chirrup?" Alex was back, bumping his head alternately between Skinner's head and Mulder's hip, his purr annoyingly insistent.

Mulder opened his eyes, groaning in protest when Skinner's mouth abandoned him. His boss and his cat were engaged in a stare down.

"You really need to talk to this beast about the appropriateness of audience participation."

"I think he's hungry."

Skinner broke eye contact with the cat to level his best glare on Mulder. "Then feed him," he said in a low, dangerous voice.

Mulder stifled a protest, recognizing food as the only way to get rid of the cat. If they locked him out of the room, he'd just sit outside the door and yowl, a sound hardly conducive to romantic encounters.

"Then what?" he asked rising from the bed to look down on his scowling lover.

"Then I'm going to feed you," Skinner replied rolling over on his back and taking his own rampantly hard erection in hand.

Mulder swallowed, then turned and fled downstairs. The quicker the cat was fed, the quicker...well, he just intended to be damn fast.

***

Dana Scully sat in the Monday morning staff meeting puzzled. Her partner and their boss both behaved as if the Friday afternoon staff meeting had never taken place. There seemed to be no repercussions for Mulder's temper tantrum and arrogant dismissal of protocol and form, his snotty behavior and smart-ass report. Nothing was said about his calling AD Skinner a son of a bitch or storming out of the office before being dismissed.

He'd come into the office after her. Not late, exactly, just late for Mulder. He brought her a six-grain muffin, latte (tall, skinny with hazelnut) and a miniature rosebush of a color that matched her hair planted in an exquisite porcelain space ship. He kissed her chastely, on the cheek, and apologized.

He was relaxed and cheerful. His nose was sunburnt.

She fought the urge to cut him open to see if he'd bleed green.

And then there was Assistant Director Skinner. The surly, taciturn AD was positively...Jesus!...jovial was the only word she could come up with. He all but beamed while listening to Mulder talk about the apparent possession of a twelve-year-old Science Fair winner by Abraham Lincoln's illegitimate bi-racial daughter.

"Mulder, Abe Lincoln never had an illegitimate daughter, black or any other color," she pointed out, since the AD didn't seem inclined to.

"That we know of," Mulder countered amiably.

Skinner preened like the proud owner of a prize-winning poodle.

Scully looked from one to the other, thinking that they both looked as if they'd gotten laid this weekend. Then she looked again, from Skinner's benevolent half-smile to Mulder's earnest recitation of outrageous incidents by a precocious pre-teen. They were intent on each other, with Mulder performing and Skinner appreciating.

She watched them, back and forth, as if at a tennis match. No, she thought, attempting to squelch the image that popped into her head. Impossible. Skinner's not...that way. And even if he were, he wouldn't. Not with Mulder. Spooky Mulder. A subordinate. The person who almost single-handedly derailed Skinner's high-rise career. Not possible.

The image wouldn't leave.

"Agent Scully?"

"Sir?" she met his eyes and felt herself blush.

"Do you have anything to add, Agent?"

Her face burned. "No, Sir. Not at this time."

Skinner nodded and dismissed them, asking only for some more documentation for their expense report. As soon as the two agents entered the hallway, Scully turned to Mulder and punched him. Hard. In the arm.

"Are you insane?" she hissed.

"What'd I do?" Mulder rubbed his injured limb.

"Lunch, Mulder. Out. Now."

"Scully, it's 10:30."

"Now, Mulder." She stalked down the hall to the elevator, jabbed the "down" button and stood impatiently, seething.

"What'd I do?" Mulder began again, coming up behind her.

"Not. Another. Sound." She jabbed him in the chest, emphasizing each word. The agent who entered the elevator on the next floor down took one look at Scully's stormy face and Mulder's patented "who me?" expression and wisely backed out.

She kept him silent all the way out of the Hoover building and across Pennsylvania, making an emphatic "uh" noise each time he opened his mouth to speak.

Once they reached the park-like Mall that runs between the Capitol and Washington Monument, Scully turned and slugged him again. "Skinner? You're fucking Skinner? I knew you were going to go and do something stupid, Mulder, but this? Are you crazy? Is he? What are you two thinking? Or thinking with? Answer me, Mulder!"

She glared up at him, hands on hips, watching a parade of emotions cross his face and finally settle on bemused confusion. "Scully, what are you saying? You surely can't be implying..."

"Don't. Even. Think. About. Lying. To. Me." A jab with a lethal-looking copper-colored talon emphasized each word. "Did you even think about your career, Mulder? Or his? Did you? *Did you*?" The last was accompanied by a particularly vicious stab, causing an involuntary "ow."

He deflected the next stab, conceding defeat. "All right, I'll spill. How did you know?"

"Jesus, Mulder, you two positively *glowed*. If you were female, I'd swear you were pregnant. When did this start?"

"Friday. Sort of." They began to walk, keeping close to noise sources, hopefully defeating any directional mikes that happened to be pointed their way.

"Friday? Mulder, Friday afternoon he was ready to fire you."

"Well, Friday night we had an...encounter...in the parking lot."

Scully's jaw dropped, and she stopped. "You fucked in the parking lot!?"

"We did not!" Mulder seemed shocked at the suggestion. "I ran into him. Literally, I mean." He slapped his hands together to demonstrate.

"So what? You made a date?" They began walking again.

"Not exactly. You know, Scully, this really isn't any of your business."

She snorted, dismissing that statement as irrelevant. "Just start at the beginning, Mulder."

"In the beginning," he began, "Alex Krycek broke into my apartment and gave me a hickey."

She started to protest that as old news, but stopped herself, allowing him to tell his story in his own way. Which he did. Eventually.

"Oh, God, Mulder." She opened her mouth but couldn't think of anything else to say. Giving up she said, "Come on."

"Where to now?" he asked, following her back toward the Hoover Building.

"Chocolate, Mulder. I need chocolate. Lots and lots of chocolate."

* * *

end

feedback, please 

 

* * *

 

Title: Strays IV  
Author: mocomab  
Date: December 1999  
Pairing: M/K, M/K/S  
Summary: Krycek's back. There's chest beating and macho posturing. Smut ensues.  
Author's Note: Strays IV begins several months after Strays III, which you probably ought to read, along with Strays I and II, to make any sense at all of this silliness. Find them at TER/MA http://www.squidge.org/terma/mocomab/mocomab.htm   
Rating: NC17 for smutty sex amongst pretty boys and one bald hunk. And the belt. And collar. And capsicum-spiked lube. Oh, wait...that's part V.  
Archive: TER/MA. Elsewhere okay, too, but please let me know.  
Warning: Belt-beating.  
Further Warning: This is pure smut with no redeeming features. It contains a lot of sex sandwiched <ahem> between threatened mayhem, gratuitous *punishment*, angst, schmoop, hurt/comfort and pizza.  
Disclaimer: Of course they're not mine...I treat my pets *much* better than this...and they don't make me any money. They cost me money. I really should be working…  
Many, many, many thanks go to mouse for beta-ing for a stranger and to my buddy quercus for not letting me corrupt the English language. English *speakers* she has no problems with…  
Feedback always cherished   


* * *

Strays IV

by mocomab  


Fox Mulder talked to dead people. He used to talk to the three-legged cat that he named after a one-armed assassin, but the cat didn't live with him anymore. He'd become so accustomed to sharing both his feelings and his space with another entity, that his empty apartment now felt oppressive and malevolent.

Shortly after Alex-the-Cat was evicted, Mulder found himself talking to himself. This bothered him. He might be crazy as a loon, but he wasn't insane, and he didn't want to become one of those odd people who carried on conversations with themselves.

He compromised and began talking to the dead. It seemed less strange. Some of his dead were more satisfying than others. His father, for example, pissed him off. Even dead, the man had the power to reduce his son to an inept, unattractive geek. Instead of a sounding board to bounce theories, conjectures and bad jokes off, the late Bill Mulder, in Mulder's imagination, simply heaped fuel on the bonfire of Mulder's guilt. His worst sin, not surprisingly, was the fact that Fox Mulder had not only fucked, but fell in love with, Bill Mulder's killer.

There was really no rationalizing it, not to this victim, so after the first few conversations, he pretty much ignored the memory of his father. Former colleagues were just as bad, particularly about his consorting with his superior. Even people he liked and respected, like Reggie Perdue, wouldn't try to understand about Walter Skinner, spankings and other sexual tortures. After one horrible conversation with Reggie about Alex Krycek, Mulder gave up talking with peers.

He finally settled on the one person, dead or otherwise, whom he knew would understand: Melissa Scully. Even though he'd never gotten the impression that Missy much liked him when she'd been alive, he figured that if she could forgive Krycek's involvement in her death (which Alex swore she did), and help him in his quest for redemption, then she'd surely be tolerant of Mulder's foibles.

She was, in Mulder's head at least, and he found he really enjoyed talking with her and wished he'd gotten to see more of her while she was alive.

A large part of him was embarrassed by this habit of talking with the dead, almost as much as he was embarrassed by his relationship with, and need for, Walter Skinner. Add all that to his craving for Alex Krycek, and he wondered if there'd ever be anything in his life that he could discuss in polite company.

That was his home life, not that he spent much time there.

Mulder's weekdays were spent investigating bizarre phenomenon and tracking down alien conspiracies. His weekends, for the most part, were spent on investigations of another sort.

He and Walter Skinner explored boundaries and limits, played games of bondage and domination and found, among other things, that they actually enjoyed each other's company.

What had begun as a dark lust and gnawing need evolved into something as necessary to Mulder as breathing.

Mulder had been disconcerted when his partner deduced this unorthodox relationship, but he soon came to rely on her to keep them undetected. Scully kept up with office gossip and was careful to rein Mulder in when his *affection* for their boss became apparent. She told him when Skinner was getting out of character, too, although the AD had no idea that Scully was aware of the *affair*.

Except for the fact that he hadn't heard from Alex Krycek in all this time, life was good, and Mulder was almost happy. Almost. The nagging worry he felt at the back of his mind for this deadly, damaged lover kept him from totally embracing his new relationship. He felt incomplete. And not knowing if Alex were alive or dead, he couldn't even grieve.

He'd given up looking for Alex spoor in the evenings after work or following a run. If he looked, he was disappointed, and that was just too painful.

He no longer looked, so he didn't notice the strange book on his cluttered coffee table, the vodka in the freezer or the wool muffler and cap hanging haphazardly next to a black leather jacket on his tacky coat rack. He didn't notice anything amiss until he walked into his bedroom to change and beheld Alex Krycek.

"Alex!" Mulder couldn't help the grin that split his face. Couldn't help it from slowly dying when he noticed the gun pointed unwaveringly at his chest. "Alex?" He slowed his forward motion. "Alex?" Softer.

"Where's the cat, Mulder?" Grim expression, clenched jaw.

"Alex, what's wrong?" A step forward and the gun cocked. "You're going to shoot me?"

"Where's the fucking cat!" There was a note of hysteria in Krycek's voice.

Mulder put out a placating hand. "Landlord found out about him."

"So you what? Put him down? Gave him away? Couldn't bring yourself to leave this," he gestured wildly with the gun, "mansion? Find a place that takes cats? You just got rid of him?"

"No!" Mulder reached out slowly as if to stroke Alex' face. "He's with a friend."

"Scully." Krycek said it sadly, resigned.

Mulder shook his head and smiled. He was beginning to understand. "I couldn't leave here, Alex. How would you find me?" He moved forward until he actually could touch his lover. "Your namesake is fine. He likes it at Walter's. There're more things to get into there."

"Walter's. Skinner?"

"Yeah." Mulder gently took the gun out of Krycek's hand, uncocked it and slipped the safety on. He tossed it gently onto the bed. "I took your advice." He placed his hands on each side of Krycek's face. "God I missed you," he said, leaning in for a kiss.

A miracle. Kissing Alex was akin to prayer, especially when he was like this. Gentle and...earnest...

Alex Krycek was the one man Mulder had never been able to profile, but in this instance, he understood what was happening and knew exactly what to do. He finished the sweetest kiss of his life, smiled gently at his missing lover, then slid slowly to his knees.

"What the hell are you doing?" Alex demanded, frowning.

"Awaiting your pleasure," Mulder answered serenely.

"My pleasure?" Alex sneered the words.

Mulder nodded. "I surrender."

"Surrender?"

"Acquiesce. Abdicate. Yield. Sub..."

Krycek interrupted the litany. "Shut up, Mulder."

Fox immediately fell silent. He stared up at Krycek, keeping his face as devoid of emotions as he could. Open, but giving nothing away. "Don't move," Krycek said after a long silence. Mulder willed himself not to react when Alex stepped over to the bed and picked up the gun. "What if my pleasure is to kill you?" he asked, putting the gun to Mulder's head.

"Then so be it," Fox replied, tearing his eyes away from Alex's to stare straight ahead, awaiting execution.

"Any last requests?" Alex asked, cocking the gun.

Mulder met his eyes again. "Yes." Krycek smirked, as if some preconceived notion were confirmed. "Watch over my mother. Don't let Cancerman get to her again."

The smirk disappeared. Whatever Alex was expecting, it wasn't this. Mulder kept watching as Krycek's face became a mask, brittle porcelain.

"I'm planning to kill you, Mulder," he said in his whispery, desperate voice. "Why would you ask this of me?"

Fox let all his love show through. "Because, if you promise me this, I know your next round won't be in your own head."

The mask began to crack. "I've just killed you, Mulder. Why would you care?"

Mulder allowed himself a small smile. "Because, I can't fathom a world without you in it," he replied in his own intimate whisper. Alex swallowed and shuddered, making Mulder breathe a little easier.

"Maybe I'll just maim you a little." Alex caressed Mulder's cheek with the barrel of his Glock. Fox's reply was to lean into the caress, almost nuzzling the gun, wringing a small cry out of Krycek.

"Suck me," Alex ordered in a strangled voice, barely able to get the words out.

Mulder's smile widened as he eagerly complied, loosing Alex's partially erect cock. His half-mast state was a testament to the reforming assassin's emotional turmoil, so Mulder did his utmost to put Alex's mind at rest by coaxing his second favorite penis to full dress attention. (Fox counted his own as number one on his list of favorites, with both Krycek's and Skinner's in firm second place, depending on which one was currently satisfying certain cravings.)

He nipped and licked from base to tip and back, sighing in contentment as he burrowed his nose into the dark, crisp pubic curls, breathing deeply of Krycek's unique scent, renewing the imprint of that scent in his brain. He faltered momentarily when he first took Alex deep, not-so-vaguely aware of the shifting of the gun from Krycek's real right hand to the stiff plastic prosthesis. He felt fear for the first time in this encounter, not knowing how much actual control Alex had with it.

He whimpered a bit, then was soothed when the fleshly right hand carded itself through his hair to rest comfortingly against the back of his skull. Alex didn't direct his thrusts, but the threat was there, and Mulder tried to forget about the gun at his head and concentrate on the cock in his mouth. He was bracing himself on Krycek's sturdy thighs, their muscular solidity a Truth he'd never need question. He could tell when Alex was close to coming, just by the shift in his thigh muscles, so he was unsurprised when he was pushed roughly away.

Alex panted and cursed him, almost sobbing as he fought for control. Mulder sat back serenely on his heels, waiting for both instructions and forgiveness of whatever transgression had made Death a player in this game.

"Skinner's been making you practice," Alex rasped out. "I'll have to remember to thank him for that." Mulder wouldn't rise to the bait, rather sitting back on his heels, eyes downcast. He didn't just wait, though, snaking his tongue out along his full lower lip, moistening it, fully expecting to be pulled up into a kiss. The slap came as a shock, knocking him off balance and onto his side. "Get these jeans off me. Then you can do something useful with that tongue."

Mulder fought his temper, knowing that to strike back now would destroy whatever relationship they might have. At the very best, they'd end in a fuck of frustration but be unable to ever connect without hurting. At worst, one of them really would kill the other. So he reined in his natural tendency to beat the shit out of the silly bastard as he righted himself, resisting the urge to lick at the blood he felt trickling from the corner of his mouth. Let him look at blood if it turned him on.

He lowered his eyes demurely, mentally cataloging various planned torments in order of intensity, and gently eased off Krycek's boots and socks before tugging the loosened jeans down the lean hips.

Despite his anger, the scent of Alex's arousal made his mouth water, and he swallowed convulsively.

"Come on, Mulder." Alex widened his stance. "Get that tongue working. But don't touch my cock. When I come, I'm coming up your ass."

This was more like it. Mulder crawled closer, running his hands up the front of those beloved thighs and around the back and up to gently knead that best-loved butt. He adored Skinner's ass, it was hard and tight and Mulder could become erect just thinking about it, a pornographer's wet dream. But there was something about the roundness of Alex's butt that seemed somehow vulnerable, muscular though it was. Walter's ass was challenging in its perfection, whereas Alex's was inviting. His pleaded to be stroked and petted, begged to be breached. And although Mulder was more than willing to turn bottoms up, he didn't intend for Krycek to leave this room until he'd gotten his own pound of flesh. Or more accurately, *pounding* of flesh.

But that was for later. Now he nuzzled past the purpled cock, risking a slurp to the underside that earned him a slight cuff, to begin long, soft licks to the tender crease between leg and pelvis. He lapped there until he felt quivering, then dry-licked cat fashion across the balls to the opposite crease, where he began again.

Mulder could lick this body forever, he felt, talking sustenance from the salt and secretions he forced from it.

Alex was having none of it, though, and kept him moving with light slaps when the effects were too intense. At one point, Mulder had Alex almost sitting on his shoulders when the agent tried to crawl through the wide-spread legs to get to the goodies behind. Trying to not-so-subtly knock Alex off balance got him another hard cuff, so in apology Mulder knelt low to kiss and lap Krycek's elegant left foot, paying particular attention to the high arch. He moved up the ankle and calf, gently urging Alex to turn.

Mulder nipped at the back of his knees, causing a growled warning of "no teeth." Fox grinned to himself and slurped his way up the backs of Alex's legs until he was face-to-face, so to speak, with the lush sweetness of Krycek's ass. He couldn't suppress a little throaty gurgle of glee. He'd dreamed about this ass for months, tasted it in his fantasies. And now here it was. Mulder leaned close, hands on the narrow hips, and breathed deep. He smelled arousal and musk, and his own brand of soap.

Another smile. Alex had washed himself a short time before, obviously readying himself for Mulder, a task Mulder'd have to see to himself before they got much further along. But that was for later.

Now, he placed his thumbs in the crease, pulling the cheeks apart, making room. Krycek's moan of anticipation spiked Mulder's own arousal, sending pre-come to soak through his briefs and into the fine wool of his now wrinkled suit.

He buried his face in the crease, stomach clinching to control the short-lived gag reflex triggered by his cortex screaming "filth" before being overcome by lust and hunger from his hypothalamus.

The taste was even better than the smell. Krycek seemed to pull away and Mulder made frustrated noises until he realized the pretty thug was merely leaning against the wall, no longer able to stand on his own, which put him at a better angle for Mulder's access. Perfect. Mulder made his tongue a hard little spear, worming it into the tight gateway. Alex squirmed, moaning almost continuously. Mulder tongue-fucked him until his squirms became full-fledged hip rotations, humming in reply to the moans, sending vibrations deep inside his lover.

Alex made a noise that Mulder had never heard him make, right before he abruptly turned, knocking Mulder back on his haunches. Alex leaned his shoulders against the wall, hips bucking slightly, breathing hard. Mulder watched from the floor, still not sure if Krycek was over his homicidal bent. The Glock had disappeared, which Mulder took as a good sign. He wasn't alarmed then when Alex, recovered somewhat, reached down to grab his lapels, hauling him to his feet and in close for a kiss.

Alex pushed him away and wiped his lips. "Jesus, Mulder! Go wash. You smell like my ass!"

Mulder glared back, anger flaring again. What the hell did he expect him to smell like? "I like the way your ass smells," he stated, debating on whether he should try to beat the bad mood out of the outlaw. But he wanted to do this peacefully, show his love and acceptance with something other than his fists. Not an easy task.

"Well, I don't." Alex fell back onto the bed, looking faintly ridiculous wearing nothing but his rampant erection and a "Ski Kansas" t-shirt.

Mulder contemplated his options for a moment longer before turning to the bathroom. There'd be time for paybacks. He wasn't going to let Krycek leave anytime soon. Especially now that he'd put the gun away.

Fox not only washed his face and teeth, he took care of other bathroom necessities, too.

"Took your own sweet time," was Krycek's only comment when Mulder returned. Fox made no answer on his way to the bed, merely sank silently to his knees, wincing slightly. He'd have bruises tomorrow, and silently gave thanks that Skinner wasn't into kneeling games. "I'm not pointing a gun at you anymore, Mulder," Alex stated, lying on his side, head propped up on his hand.

"The gun never had anything to do with this." He held Krycek's gaze.

Alex opened his mouth to speak, closed it, pursed his lips and sighed. "Why are you still dressed?"

Mulder couldn't help the grin. "Because you never told me to undress."

Another long suffering sigh. "Get undressed, Mulder."

Mulder clambered to his feet to comply, stripping quickly and tossing his needed-to-be dry-cleaned suit into a corner. He debated leaving on his tie, just for effect, but then decided he really didn't want to give Alex any new ideas. While he climbed onto the bed, Alex opened the nightstand drawer, presumably looking for lube and condoms.

"You kept it," he said softly, bringing out a shiny black rhinestone-studded collar with a heart-shaped tag dangling from an s-hook.

"Why do you sound so surprised?" Mulder kneeled in front of him, the bed much more comfortable on his knees than the carpet.

Alex shrugged, eyes still on the collar. "You got rid of the cat."

"The cat got evicted," Mulder corrected. He scooched up close, until their knees were touching. "Besides, he's happier at Walt's. You wouldn't believe," he planted a kiss on the tip of Alex's tiny nose, "what a sap that man is. He's built this huge," another kiss on the side of the mouth, "cat condo all up over his front window." A kiss on the other side of his mouth. "It's amazing." Soft kiss on the lips. "He's very good with his hands."

Alex snorted. "I'll just bet."

Mulder leaned back and studied him, head cocked. "You know, this little jealous streak of yours is sort of cute." Alex arched his eyebrows. "In a murderous kind of way." That almost got a laugh.

Fox brushed his hands lightly up Alex's cock, traced around his navel with both thumbs, grasping the hem of his shirt to peel it off. He was stopped by a small slap. "Don't presume," Alex said frowning.

"Well, it's hard to take you seriously with that on. Where the hell did you find it?"

Alex looked down his chest at the skier posed for downhill racing in the middle of a flat, snow-covered after-harvest corn field. "Yugoslav thrift shop."

"They have thrift shops in Yugoslavia?"

Alex's *well-duh* expression caused his face to burn. Mulder hated to blush; his face got blotchy and his nose turned about three shades brighter than everything else.

"I think we need to worry more about what you're wearing," whispered the assassin, reaching to place the collar around Mulder's throat. Fox groaned from his increased arousal and felt himself burning even hotter. This turned him on as much as it had the first time. The first time he wore the collar was the first time he had sex, real sex, with Krycek. And it had been a very long time.

"Please," he moaned.

"You want something, Fox?" They were close, knees to knees. Mulder could feel Alex's warm breath as he spoke and the heat from his body. The hem of the silly t-shirt brushed against the tops of Mulder's thighs.

"Alex, please. You're killing me here."

"So, what is it you need, Fox?" Alex fingered the red heart-shaped tag hanging from the collar, rubbing his thumb across the engraved "Fox," making Mulder overly conscious of the engraving on the flip side of the heart: "Property of A. Krycek."

"You, I want you," he was finding it difficult to speak. "Please, Alex. Do me now."

Alex let go of the heart to trail his hand down Mulder's chest, tweaking a nipple and tugging gently at the sparse chest hair. "I like it when you beg me." Mulder's bruised mouth was captured in a kiss. "On your back," Alex commanded when they broke for air.

Mulder complied, letting Krycek position him in the middle of the unmade bed. He lifted his hips obediently for the pillows Alex pushed under him and allowed his knees to be spread and pushed back. "Hold 'em," Alex directed.

"Alex," Mulder moaned. He felt so incredibly...sluttish...holding himself spread open like this. If he wasn't touched soon, he'd implode.

"Oh, yeah," Krycek breathed at him, "beautiful." He brought his hand down Mulder's leg from the back of the knee to the cleft in his ass, teasing and circling his anus.

Mulder was too far gone in sexual heat to appreciate the husky chuckle, but later he'd replay this scene over and over to masturbate by: Alex teasing his entrance, laughing at the involuntary reaction of that tight little doorway.

"Ooh, hungry, aren't we?" Krycek cooed, almost breaching the sphincter. "Greedy little mouth wants fed, huh?" Twisting until just the tip of his finger was inside, not bothering yet with lubrication of any kind, not even spit. Mulder was so hot he almost didn't care, only rasping out "lube" when Alex went into the second knuckle. More laughter of "Baby wants it slick now, does he?" and a gaping emptiness when the finger withdrew. Then cool slick on the hottest part of his body. "Hungry, baby. Papa's gonna feed you now, fill you up good. Fill you till you scream."

The finger was back, twisting and stretching. One became two, and then they were gone, to be replaced with something harder and hotter.

"Finally," Mulder breathed, eliciting another chuckle. He groaned through the burn and his groans soon became incoherent cries. Alex didn't give him much time to adjust before beginning a driving beat.

"Feed the baby. Gonna feed the baby," he chanted in rhythm. Neither man lasted very long, their deadly "foreplay" taking its toll. Mulder milked himself to Krycek's beat, not even trying to hold off his climax. Alex followed, shouting "Baby, baby, baby!"

Mulder lowered his legs with a groan, and they lay together panting. When he could breath again, Mulder rolled over Krycek's limp form to reach into the nightstand for wet wipes. He cleaned them up, carefully peeling the condom off the near comatose Krycek. Collapsing back, Mulder turned his head to scrutinize his lover. The t-shirt was soaked in sweat, hanging on a too-thin form. Alex's hair was cut short, and there was an almost fragile look to his face.

"What?" Alex responded to the scrutiny.

"Feed the baby?" It was Krycek's turn to blush. Mulder's gaze didn't waver, causing Alex's blush to deepen. He turned a deep, uniform rose, even his nose. Life was not fair.

"There wasn't a whole lot of blood getting to my brain," Alex said finally, by way of explanation.

Mulder rolled until he was half laying on Alex, nuzzling. "You're a very scary man," he said to Krycek's throat.

"I should go," Alex made a movement to disentangle himself, but Mulder tightened his hold.

"You just got here," Fox pulled the t-shirt collar down and bit him on the collarbone, sucking to mark.

"You have a life," Alex squirmed. "You don't need me in it."

"Yeah, so? It's never stopped you before."

"You never *had* anybody before."

Mulder sucked another mark along Krycek's collar bone. "I like the homicidal maniac better than the suffering martyr."

"Fuck you."

"Later." Mulder gave up trying to access flesh from the collar, moving down to kiss Alex's limp cock head, rim his navel and then shove up his t-shirt hem to plant a loud raspberry in the middle of the flat belly. He tensed his shoulders against the protesting slaps, running his hands up under the shirt to circle the tiny, erect nipples. He broadened the circles, until he encountered tight, too-smooth flesh.

He stared at his lover for a moment, then shoved the shirt up to Krycek's throat, discovering three new round scars, located slightly above the left nipple. All were red and only slightly healed.

"How close did I come to losing you?" he whispered.

Alex closed his eyes and took a deep breath before meeting Mulder's stare. "Close."

Mulder's hands convulsed, and he said nothing, merely planted a soft kiss under the grouping.

"I died, Fox."

"Oh, god," Mulder groaned.

"I died and was gone from my body. I saw it. Like they say in the books. I was gone and like floating, you know? Floating away, and then I saw Missy, and she made me go back."

"Go back?"

"Back into my body. She made me."

"Melissa Scully?"

"She made me," Alex repeated. "She can be a real bully. You wouldn't think it to look at her, but she is." He avoided eye contact, looking past Mulder at a glow-in-the-dark Bart Simpson setting atop Mulder's chest'o'drawers. "Is Scully...Dana, I mean...like that?" he glanced at Fox, who remained speechless. "It'd explain a lot."

"I don't want to lose you, Alex," Mulder said when he could get his voice to work. "I want you here. With me." He began to maneuver the shirt over Krycek's head.

"That's what Missy said," Alex cooperated with his de-shirting, which calmed Mulder. "She said you needed me, that you were talking to yourself."

Mulder swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. "She said that?"

"Yeah. So, do you?" Mulder was silent. "Fox?"

He laid them down, entwining himself with Alex, leg between leg, arm over chest, pelvis to hip. "I don't talk to myself. I did. For a little while, but I don't anymore."

"Good," Alex said a little sadly.

"Now I talk to dead people."

"Excuse me? Did you say 'dead people'?"

Mulder nodded, uncomfortable. "People I know who've died. Like Melissa. I talk to Melissa."

Alex's expression didn't change. "Does she talk back?"

"No. It's not like she's really there. I mean, I don't see her or anything. I...just talk to her." Alex looked solemn but not skeptical like Mulder would expect. He continued, unable to stop. "It's so lonely here now with Alex gone. He's a good listener. I miss having him here. Of all the people I've ever known, Melissa seems the most likely to...well...to understand about...everything..." His voice tapered off.

"Everything?"

"Yeah, like Walter and pain and you and why I can't stop my quest and--"

"Pain?"

"What?"

"Pain." Mulder gave Alex his best blank look. "As in Walter and *pain* and me...?"

Fox nuzzled in closer and spoke to the crook between Krycek's neck and shoulder. "I couldn't get it out of my mind, Alex. What I did to you...with that old belt...and what you said about keeping the nightmares away and letting you sleep and I couldn't stop thinking about Walter and what you said about him and I started pushing him and pushing him and finally he showed up here to confront me and I told him what I needed and he knew...Alex, he understood about...it...and he helps me...we...help each other...it's good between us, Alex. It's really good." He bit down slightly, sucking to leave a light mark.

"Oh, god, Fox. What I've done to you. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"No, don't be!" There was a smile in Mulder's voice, and he tightened his hold. Then he bit Alex again and tweaked a nipple. "I feel better than I have in years. I sleep at night. Hell, except for aliens colonizing the earth, my life is pretty damn good. Well, I do miss the cat, I talk to dead people, and I didn't know if you were dead or alive. Call the next time you're lying near death."

"You'd have been better off if I'd died. Melissa was wrong, Fox. You don't need me."

"I do," whispered against Alex's chest.

"No, you don't." He wouldn't look at Mulder. "You've got Skinner. He's better for you. Less baggage."

Fox made a sound of disgust. He rolled over onto Alex until he was sitting straddled on his stomach. "You want baggage? An assistant director of the FBI is having a homosexual affair with a subordinate. A subordinate who is considered both a political embarrassment and a lunatic. Imagine the scandal."

"So you want *me*?"

Mulder nodded. "I want you both."

"Skinner'll love that."

"He won't make me choose." Alex raised a skeptical eyebrow. "We've already talked about it." Mulder bounced a little, making Alex go "oof." "Don't you."

Alex bucked suddenly, dislodging and dumping Mulder onto his side. They tussled playfully before Mulder let himself be rolled over and sat on. "Greedy," said Alex leaning down for a kiss.

"Uh huh," Mulder answered around the rogue's roving tongue.

"Greed can be good," Alex said when they broke for air. "I can relate to greed."

"So you're okay with this? Sharing me?"

"Okay doesn't quite describe it." He bounced. "I'm pragmatic, though, and he's obviously good for you."

"Skinner has become as necessary to me as air." Fox ran his hands up and down Alex's thighs, tracing circles with his thumbs. "As necessary as you." He watched Krycek's eyes widen.

"I'm incredibly UN-necessary, Fox."

"Not to me you're not." Mulder gazed intently into the jade green orbs, trying to relay the feelings he didn't have words for. The phone ringing brought him back to earth and he watched in horror as his nemesis stretched toward the nightstand and answered it.

"Mulder," said Krycek in a passable imitation of the agent's voice. Fox struggled to get out from under him, but Alex merely settled heavier on his stomach. "Walter," the rogue purred, "I was just thinking about you." Mulder squirmed, and Krycek bounced to keep him quiet. "I sound strange? Fancy that." He switched to his own voice. "Must be an X-File."

Mulder could hear Skinner's angry voice, even though he couldn't understand the words. He didn't really need to.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Alex drawled in answer to some threat. "We'll see how tough you are stripped naked with your ass in the air." A pause. Krycek wiggled a little while he listened, making Mulder squirm underneath him. "So that mean you're up for a party? We'll be waiting for you, *Walter.* I'll get him nice and warmed up for you. See you soon." He clicked off and laid the phone down.

Mulder glared up at him. "This is your idea of sharing?"

Alex gifted him with an angelic smile that sent chills up his back. "Didn't your mother warn you about being careful what you wished for?" the rogue whispered.

"Alex," Mulder warned. Krycek bounced a few times in reply, pursing his lips and frowning, as if pondering a great thought. He grinned suddenly, bounced hard once before scrambling off to the edge of the bed. His prosthetic gave him an odd hands-and-knees gate, reminding Mulder of his three-legged cat.

Adrenaline surged through Mulder when Alex reached over the side of the bed and came up with the Glock. "What are you--?"

"Don't worry, Mulder. I'm not going to shoot Mount Baldy. Quite the opposite." Alex proceeded to empty the clip, placing the rounds in the night stand drawer. He pulled the slide back, too, and removed the last cartridge by hand before dry-firing several times, pointing toward the bathroom, making sure the gun was empty. "I just wanna make sure he doesn't shoot *me*." He settled himself at the head of the bed, making himself comfortable with pillows behind his back. He was in easy reach of the empty gun on the nightstand.

The anticipatory gleam in his eyes was scarier to Mulder than the desperate psychopath of earlier. "Alex," he whispered, "I care for him."

"I know. And now I'm going to get you all ready for him." He reached for Mulder's collar, tugging the heart tag toward him. "Come on. I want him to see what *I* do to you."

"Oh, god," Mulder moaned, scooching up towards him. This wasn't at all what he'd had in mind when he said he wanted them to share. Truthfully, he hadn't really thought about what exactly sharing would entail. It had seemed so academic and far away. Now, it was almost here and getting closer. Skinner lived a scant quarter hour away. "I'm a slut."

"Yes, you are," Alex pulled Fox's legs this way and that, arranging him so that his ass was almost in Alex's lap, legs akimbo on either side, bent and sprawled. "It's one of your virtues. Now let's see if you're still juiced and loose." Mulder felt helpless against the lust Krycek engendered in him. What would Walter think when he saw him like this?

Alex inspected Mulder's anus, which was still stretched and lubed from the sex. "Pretty, pretty," he said inserting two fingers. "Let's just see how hot I can get you before this menage is complete." He scissored and twisted, finally locating Mulder's hard little pleasure gland.

Mulder was laying mostly on his shoulders, totally open and accessible to Krycek's probing. He'd be sore tomorrow, he knew, but it felt so damn good now. Spirals of pleasure, like the aftermath of a good orgasm, cycled through him, leaving him lethargic and unable to do anything other than submit and enjoy. Krycek's murmured endearments, obscene suggestions and loving curses only added to Mulder's pleasure, sending him into a deep sexual high.

He was incoherent by the time Skinner reached his apartment.

Mulder didn't hear a thing, so far into sexual oblivion that his universe had narrowed down to a single body part. Krycek obviously heard Skinner's key at the door. Abruptly, he exited Mulder's body and wiped his fingers on the sheet. Shoving long legs off to one side, he grabbed an arm, pulling Mulder up and around until he could hook his stiff left arm around the agent's neck, holding the empty gun to his head with his right.

Later, when Mulder could think again, he'd cringe at Skinner's despairing look when the big man first beheld his lover held at gunpoint by a person Skinner had every reason to hate.

"Hey, Walter," purred Alex, drawing little circles on Mulder's temple with the muzzle.

"Krycek." He said the name like a curse.

"Please disarm yourself. We want to keep this civilized."

When Skinner hesitated, Alex moved the gun, stroking, down Fox's face, tracing the outsized nose down to his mouth, caressing his lips. Mulder moaned through the caress, pressing into the gun.

"Mulder?" Skinner said, glaring.

"Wha--?" Mulder tried to form words, but his ass was still twitching from Krycek's finger fucking and his mouth just didn't seem to work. And at the moment, he couldn't figure out the connection.

"What the hell's wrong with him?"

"Sex-stupid," Alex said fondly. "Surely you've seen him in this state before." He ran the gun under Mulder's chin, looking pointedly at Skinner.

"You're not going to shoot him," Skinner said as he took his service pistol out of the holster at his back.

Indicating the night stand with his chin, Krycek said, "Now the hideout."

"I don't have one," Skinner stated through clenched teeth, putting his gun down.

"Oh, please." They matched glares for a long beat. Mulder, beginning to come out of his stupor, caught Skinner's eye and managed to smile, nodding slightly.

A muscle bulged in the AD's jaw before he bent down to unstrap his ankle holster. Straightening, he slapped it down next to its mate. "Now what?"

Krycek cocked his head, making a show of thinking. "Well, you're a tad overdressed. I think now would be a good time to remedy that." He nuzzled into the side of Mulder's neck, eyes never leaving the AD.

Mulder's stomach clenched at the thought of both his lovers naked, *here*, in this bed, together. Both lust and an irrational wave of jealousy spilled over him. They were both so...so...*beautiful* that he became afraid. What if they wanted each other more than they wanted him. What if they had sex and still hated each other and decided he wasn't worth the irritation. What if they killed each other? What if this worked?

His cock twitched.

Krycek's attention was riveted on Skinner's slow peeling off of his blue-gray Henley, the gun held loose by the side of Mulder's face. On impulse, Fox turned and kissed the gun barrel. No one paid any attention. He licked it. Skinner had tossed his shirt in the corner on top of Mulder's suit and was toeing off his shoes. Mulder hardened his tongue and rimmed the barrel. Still nothing.

Krycek and Skinner were too intent on each other to pay any attention to Fox, and he was unused to not being the center of their worlds. Sex-stupid or not, he knew a sure-fire way to remedy that. Since Alex seemed hypnotized by the unbuckling of Skinner's belt, he didn't notice Fox maneuvering the gun barrel with his nose until he could actually get it in his mouth.

Going down on the four-inch barrel of Krycek's Glock was strangely erotic. Although Fox knew intellectually that he was in no danger, his body felt somewhat differently. Adrenaline surged through him, charging all of his nerve endings. He put his soul into it, licking and sucking as if it were animate and could feel, and missed Skinner's utter look of horror when he noticed the gun in Mulder's mouth.

Krycek noticed the look, however. "Christ!" he yelled, jerking the gun away and throwing it across the room.

"Ow!" cried Fox, gingerly feeling his already sore mouth. "It was empty," he protested to Krycek's outraged "Are you nuts!"

"I don't care! You know bett--shit!" Alex's tirade was cut short when a large hand clamped around his throat, jerking him away from Mulder.

"Walter?" Another hand hooked around the collar Mulder forgot he was wearing. Using his thumb to flip over the little red tag, Skinner read the engraving, snorted and shoved Mulder away. The agent died a little, thinking that Walter had reached his limit.

"You think he's yours?" Skinner whispered to Krycek, tightening his grip. "Well, you can have him, boy." Mulder whimpered in despair. "But that means your ass is mine." A small shake, like a terrier with a rat. "And what's yours belongs to me now." Another shake. "Remember that."

Skinner released Krycek with a sudden push, sending the rogue toward the middle of the bed. Even while he tried to comfort the gasping-for-breath Alex, Mulder couldn't keep his eyes off the big AD, whose eyes never wavered from Krycek's. Skinner sliding his belt through the loops was a turn on for Mulder during normal times. Now, the act was not just tinged with danger, it was an act of war. Mulder found himself stroking Alex's arm, petting him, comforting and being comforted.

The belt was the first movement in an elaborate game of power in which Mulder was the prize. He'd already played one part as catalyst and was now relegated to the wings. What would happen with this convoluted relationship was out of his hands, and all he could do was watch.

"Mulder says you have stones," Skinner said, doubling the belt and slapping it lightly against his thigh. "He says you're the toughest son of a bitch he's ever known. Says you can take anything anybody can dish out."

Krycek swallowed visibly, light fingerprint-sized bruises already showing on his throat. "That what he says?" he said hoarsely.

Skinner nodded, still slapping the belt. "I personally haven't seen it."

Alex licked his lips and smirked. "I don't know about *anybody*, but I can certainly deal with anything you've got to give."

The belt kept time with Mulder's heartbeat, and he wondered if that were more than coincidence.

"Show me," Skinner whispered.

Krycek's smirk turned into a wide, humorless grin. Silently, he stretched out on his stomach, arms and legs spread wide, face buried in a pillow.

He wiggled a bit, as if drilling his groin into the bed, a patented Krycek seduction move. Mulder wondered if it had as much impact on Skinner as it had on him.

If it did, it didn't stop the big man. The first blow of the belt made Mulder start. Skinner laid a livid red stripe across Krycek's ivory ass. Alex didn't move. Even his fingers remained loose and unclenched.

The second blow left a parallel stripe across the small of his back. Mulder whimpered, but Alex didn't even flinch.

Skinner kept the stripes moving up, evenly spaced lines of red from Krycek's ass to shoulder blades. Then the stripes got creative. Diagonals, forming diamonds, and soon the diamonds were filled in. Someone started to keen, an eerie high-pitched sound. Mulder thought it came out of Krycek, but he couldn't be sure. He clamped his hands over his own mouth, making sure the sounds weren't his.

The outlaw still hadn't moved.

Mulder didn't see how he could do that--take those blows and not move. He couldn't have done it. He'd tried with this very belt and couldn't; couldn't lay still not knowing when exactly the blows were coming or where they'd land. Mulder liked being tied. He needed the freedom that came with struggling against unbreakable bonds, while screaming his pain and fury to the heavens.

This battle of wills unnerved him, and he wondered if Alex would let himself get beat to death rather than react to Skinner.

"Alex," Mulder whispered.

"Fox," Alex replied in a whimper. Then louder, "Fox!" and finally a wailed "Fooxx!" It was as if Mulder's plea accomplished what Skinner's blows could not.

Galvanized, Mulder grabbed Skinner's upraised arm. "That's his safe word! It means he's had enough."

Skinner shrugged him off. "Not hardly."

"Walter, no! Stop it now!"

The muscle in Skinner's jaw jumped. "I know a little more about this than you do, Mulder. Now, you either trust me or you don't," he said through clenched teeth.

There it was again. Trust. He trusted Skinner with his own life, but Krycek's, too? Could he? Did he? This was a pivotal moment, a crossroads of sorts, and his entire future rested with his answer. "Oh, god," he moaned and stepped away.

The strapping began again. Mulder found himself once again next to the bed on sore knees, clutching the bedclothes in time with Krycek's right hand clenching and unclenching the pillow he'd used to muffle his cries. In that moment, Mulder understood. Although Alex had cried 'Uncle,' so to speak, his body language had barely changed since the start.

He was still spread-eagle, his posture almost relaxed, giving nothing away. If Skinner stopped the beating before Krycek gave anything up, Krycek would win.

Skinner didn't like to lose.

The blows continued. Mulder didn't understand how they could do this. Skinner was sweating, head and torso glistening as if he were coated in oil. His arm and shoulder had to be aching, but he didn't even slow, and Krycek didn't move.

When Alex cracked, he did it suddenly, surprising everyone.

"I'm sorry, papa!" he screamed, curling into a tight ball. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" over and over.

Skinner immediately dropped the belt. A jut of his chin sent Mulder scurrying to the bathroom. When he returned with a wet washcloth and a bottle of aloe, Skinner was sitting on the side of the bed, stroking Alex's hair, murmuring rough endearments and encouragement, telling him how brave and strong and wonderful he was. "Shh, shh," he said, "it's over now. You're okay. We're okay. It's all right. We'll get through this."

Mulder stood silent, unaware of the tears on his own face.

Skinner took the washcloth and attempted to get to Alex's face, but he only curled tighter. Not pressing, Skinner merely traded the cloth for the aloe and began to dribble the cool gel over the Krycek parts he could get to.

Mulder closed his eyes briefly and felt his cock harden. This was the good part, the payoff. Being so gently tended to by this big, hard man was unbelievably erotic. Being punished by him and then forgiven was even better. Alex was *so* lucky.

Mulder moaned lowly while Skinner lightly smoothed gel over the welted, outraged flesh, wishing it were him, and glad it wasn't. He marveled. For all the brutality of that massive beating, no skin was broken, no blood drawn. Skinner was very good at what he did.

The ball Alex was curled into gradually loosened as Skinner soothed and comforted. When his face became visible, Mulder leaned in with the now cooled washcloth, wiping away tears and snot. He'd need to change his sheets.

"There now, it's all over. You were very brave, I'm so very proud," Skinner murmured soothingly. "Fox is here, and he's going to fuck you now. Would you like that?" A slight nod and a choked sound that could have been a 'yes.'

Skinner stood, relieved Fox of the damp washcloth, kissed him gently and left the room, grabbing his shirt and closing the door after him.

Mulder stared toward the closed door, waiting with dread for the sound of his apartment door. When he heard the refrigerator opening and closing and then the pop of a beer can, he breathed a silent prayer of thanks to the universe. He wanted them both.

"Fox?"

"Hey," he answered softly, climbing back on the bed. "You doing okay?"

"Hmmm. Floating."

"God bless endorphins," Fox said while reaching for a condom and lube. He helped Alex up to his knees and entered him with very little need for prep.

"You're so relaxed," Fox said, kissing a shoulder blade.

"Feel good," Alex slurred, almost asleep.

Everything about their lovemaking was languorous, lethargic even, except the orgasms. Alex cried out when he came, the way he hadn't when he'd been beaten. It was a loud wail, full of sadness and despair. Mulder wondered if they were all mourning the loss of each other.

He wanted both of them, but had to wonder if the price they'd pay for his desires was too high, too dear. That they were both willing to pay it humbled him, and added more fuel to the bonfire of his guilt.

Alex sighed as Mulder cleaned him up and fell fast asleep, bothered not in the least by Mulder's tugging and pushing to maneuver him under the covers.

Mulder stroked him for awhile, finger-combing his hair back into place and lightly tracing the welts and bruises across his shoulders and down his back. He marveled at the love he felt for this beautiful, damaged, *deadly* man. His enemy. How it seemed so wrong and felt so right.

He wanted them both.

Laying one last kiss on Krycek's temple, Mulder rose from the bed, donned a pair of sweatpants and prepared to face Skinner.

Walter was sitting on the couch reading, a glass of colorless liquid in one hand, feet propped on the coffee table. The television was on and silent.

Mulder plucked the hardback copy of Douglas Adam's "Life, The Universe and Everything" out of Skinner's hand and looked at it quizzically for a moment before setting it down.

"You brought a book?" he asked, settling himself on Skinner's lap.

"It was on the table," Skinner said, gathering up as much of Mulder as he could hold. "I assumed it was yours."

Fox shook his head, "My copy's an old paperback."

"Well, this one's a signed first edition." They kissed. "He must have brought it as a gift for you."

"You know what the answer is, don't you?" Skinner merely cocked an eyebrow. "To life, the universe and everything?" At Skinner's slight smile, Mulder answered himself: "42."

"I've always thought so," Walter said and kissed him again. When they broke for air, he offered Mulder a sip from the glass of vodka he still held.

"It's not bad."

"Yeah. He's got better taste in vodka than you have in beer."

"What's wrong with my beer?" Mock outrage.

"How anyone who wears Armani can drink generic beer..."

"Generic beer is how I afford the Armani," Mulder began. Skinner shut him up with another kiss.

"Fox," Skinner said, nipping at his full lower lip, "get the fuck off of me. You weigh a ton."

"Mean bastard," said Mulder, rearranging himself. They ended with Skinner sitting in the middle with Mulder's legs draped over his lap. Mulder put all the couch pillows, except for his tacky Elvis-at-Graceland souvenir pillow, under his head and shoulders, making a nest.

"How is he?" Skinner asked, bringing up the topic they were both avoiding.

"Down for the count," Fox replied. "How are you?"

Skinner sighed and closed his eyes. "I shouldn't have done that to him. I didn't have the right."

Mulder considered that a bit. "You made him give. He's not used to doing that."

"I didn't have the right."

"You didn't do anything bad. You didn't do anything we didn't want you to do."

"I didn't have the right," Skinner repeated. "I don't care about him. I shouldn't have done that."

"None of us was ready to give what was required," Fox said. "Alex thought he could submit to you without giving anything up. He was wrong. I thought I could have everything I wanted. It never occurred to me I'd have a price to pay. And you. I can't begin to speak for you."

"I wasn't prepared not to hate him."

Fox smiled. "He gets to you."

"I don't want him to get to me."

"Too late, Walter."

***

Mulder was stretched out on the couch, head on Skinner's lap, arguing about the symbolism in "The Good, The Bad and The Ugly"--Walter having won the toss for their late-night television viewing--when Alex walked out of the bedroom.

He'd pulled on jeans, but left them half unzipped and unbuttoned, his hair was tousled and his eyes enormous. The right arm was gone, leaving him looking vulnerable and unbelievably young. Mulder thought he looked delicious. Fox smiled encouragingly, then yelped in protest when Skinner pulled a pillow out from under his head and dropped it on the floor in front of them.

The game was back on.

Krycek approached them, pausing to finger the collar still around Mulder's neck, before sinking to the floor and the pillow.

"He wouldn't let me take it off," Mulder explained briefly.

"Games have rules," Skinner said, taking the bottle of beer Mulder held on his stomach and handing it down to Krycek.

Mulder made a token protest, just because he was expected to, as Alex tipped the bottle back and drank what was in it down in one long pull.

"You can get up and get another one for the two of you," Skinner told him, effectively shutting off his griping.

Mulder gave a theatrical sigh as he rose off the couch and made his way into the kitchen. He took the empty from Alex, stroking his face with the back of the hand holding the bottle. When he returned, Skinner was tearing pieces off the now-cold pizza they'd ordered and was feeding it bite-by-bite to Alex.

He paused for a bit, watching. Skinner would tear off a bite and hold it out to Alex who obediently opened. Pizza and fingers both went into the pretty mouth. The fingers came out clean.

They were intent upon each other, paying little attention to Mulder and his beer. He watched, feeling his cock harden. Unbelievable after two orgasms, but this was unbelievably erotic. Alex was...well, *docile*, not a word he'd ever thought he'd use to describe such a tough man. And Skinner! Mulder had been on the receiving end of that tenderness and knew how safe and sweet it was to give up everything to Skinner's control, even for a little while. It made his toes curl and he squirmed. Damn! but this was good.

Mulder returned to the living room in time to offer Alex a drink before Skinner began feeding him the second piece of pizza. Alex drank deep, then briefly rimmed the bottle while staring straight into Mulder's eyes. He stopped at a light cuff from Skinner, grinned and took the offered tidbit. He consumed four large pieces that way before they all settled back to watch the end of the movie.

Mulder's head was back on Skinner's lap, one hand dangling off the couch to pet and caress Krycek while Walter did the same to him. Perfect. They watched the showdown in the cemetery where the anti-hero dispatched villains only somewhat worse than himself and rode away with the gold. Mulder wondered if Alex related. He wondered if Skinner made comparisons.

He wouldn't ever think of spaghetti westerns in quite the same way.

"So Krycek," Skinner said while the credits rolled, "how's your ass feel?"

Alex twisted around to stare at him. "About like you'd expect," he said after a long stare.

Walter barked a laugh. "Let me rephrase: Can you stand to be fucked again?"

A slow smile lit his face. "Yeah. I can stand it."

Skinner pushed Mulder up off his lap and stood holding out a hand to help Krycek up. Mulder sat there feeling suddenly bereft until Skinner lifted an eyebrow at him and said, "Well come on, Mulder. I'm sure we can find something for you to do."

Mulder's stomach lurched. It was really going to happen--all three of them, naked, together. He padded behind them, achingly hard.

***

It was a snug fit, the three of them in Mulder's bed. It made him wish he'd spent the extra for a custom king like Skinner had. They'd put Alex in the middle on his side, Skinner behind, readying him for entry. Mulder was positioned for a classic 69, facing Krycek's cock. He hadn't started, though, wanting to watch and, just as exciting, listen.

Skinner cooed, "Sweet boy. Such a sweet ass," with his cock beginning to breach Alex's tight anus. "Oh, yeah. Sweet. Tight little bastard, aren't you, boy?"

Alex swore softly, mostly in Russian, clutching convulsively at Mulder. "Shit!" he cried out when the head popped through. "Motherfucker! I always knew you were a size queen, Fox."

Skinner chuckled at that, then reached down to hold up Krycek's top leg, giving himself better access. "Sweet, sweet. You gonna yell for me, sweet boy? Let me hear you. I like it when you yell." He eased himself in amidst much swearing, resting and, if his grin was any indication, enjoying Alex's vocalization.

"Fucker, fucker. Motherfucker," Alex chanted. His cock bobbed in front of Mulder's face, threads of precome dripping past close enough to tongue. So he did. Tasting wonderful. He stretched his tongue to lick the head of Alex's cock and felt a tongue on his. Stretched some more to take it into his mouth and felt his own cock being engulfed. Alex's cries were muffled.

Alex mimicked everything Mulder did, so the agent indulged himself, licking and sucking, nibbling, humming. Alex's hums intensified when Skinner began moving in him, and that movement, too, was mimicked. It was a type of synchronicity that the three of them had then. At the last moment, Mulder deep-throated Alex, was reciprocated and came, swallowing hard.

Mulder never knew who cleaned them up. He only knew it was beyond him this time. It was Skinner, he thought, who righted him, turning him around so his head was on a pillow and pulled covers up around him. He was the meat on the sandwich now, with Alex's sable head tucked into his neck and Skinner's furry warmth at his back.

Life was too capricious to hope that this is what he had to look forward to, but he had this night. It would do for a long while. "We'll always have Paris," he murmured and was rewarded by Walter's deep laugh. The last thing he heard was Melissa Scully's musical giggle, a sound like glass chimes on a spring morning.

"She's saying 'I told you so,'" came Krycek's sleepy explanation.

"Shh," said Skinner, throwing a long leg over them both.

***

"Really, Mulder," Scully began when he limped into the office on Monday, "if you're going to call in sick, I'd think you could come up with a better excuse than cramps."

"It's what you say when you don't want me to ask any questions," he replied, collapsing into his chair.

"So, you don't want me to ask any questions." She propped a hip on Mulder's desk, hooked a scarlet talon on his shirt collar and peered inside.

Mulder submitted, knowing it was futile to try and avoid her. "You're a nosy woman, Scully."

"Uh huh," she replied frowning. She stared at Mulder, pursing her lips.

"What?"

"There are two different sizes of bite marks down there, Mulder."

He felt the hated blush start.

"Really, Mulder. Both of them in one weekend?" His face grew hotter, and he wondered if a blush could make a person stroke out. "At the same time?" Now she was shocked. "Mulder! You...slut!"

He opened his mouth to protest, but couldn't talk for the slow smile that soon split his face. "Yeah," he managed to say finally.

"Mulder!"

end

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